Duplicity
by pompomwoop
Summary: It was supposed to only be a mutually beneficial partnership based on deception – that is, until Itachi begins to unravel the layers of the man beneath the monster while Orochimaru ends up discovering more than he bargained for. ItaOro. Yaoi. Akatsuki. On-going.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Hello, guys! It sure has been a while~ I've recently gotten back into the Naruto manga and it's just crazy. Not going to reveal anything other than it seems Orochimaru knew a lot more than he let on.

This is going to be a revised version of Heartless (one of my previous works which I removed). It's going to be darker and grittier. The underlying idea: What if Itachi had been assigned as Orochimaru's partner in Akatsuki? What kind of ramifications would this have on the future events in the series? Bear in mind that Itachi is older.

The premise is derived from the anime – the episode where Orochimaru is absorbed by Sasuke, episode 113. There's a series of flashbacks concerning Orochimaru's business with Akatsuki, how Itachi joins the organisation, and then follows on from there. Highly recommend that you watch it, since it shows Itachi's induction but also other tidbits about Orochimaru's past that's not in the manga.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Naruto.

* * *

Prologue

* * *

"A new member has arrived."

Pain's voice rang out sharply, drawing the attention of the three cloaked figures in the room. He didn't speak for a moment, giving time for them to scrutinise the person ascending the short flight of stairs. Sasori, controlling his puppet Hiruko from within, gave no indication he knew the person, much less particularly cared, while Kisame's frown showed his ignorance. The third of the three, however, knew. There was no mistaking it, the identity of the young man taking his first steps into the black and crimson dawn.

Uchiha Itachi.

Orochimaru's eyes widened at the sight of the Uchiha prodigy coming to stand in the middle of the room. His gait was slow, calculatingly so, intended to convey the ease at which he approached Akatsuki and it worked – the room seemed to shrink around him, a feat considerable given the menacing aura of the S-rank missing-nins around him. Itachi went a step further by unblinkingly staring at each Akatsuki member before gazing at Orochimaru.

"Uchiha Itachi, welcome to Akatsuki." Pain raised his hands as if to gesture welcome, though the action was anything but warm. It was Akatsuki, after all. "We have been expecting you."

Kisame hefted Samehada onto his shoulder securely before stepping forward, grinning widely all the while. "Itachi, eh? Well," he began, weighing his words as he was admittedly interested since he had been working alone up until now, "I guess you'll be my partner from here on out."

"No." Pain surprised everyone by turning to squarely face Orochimaru. "Itachi is going to be your new partner."

There was a flash of steel, of agitation.

"_New_ partner?" Hiruko's voice was a low growl as its iron tail sliced the air back and forth angrily. "Do I need to remind you of my existence?"

Orochimaru continued to stare at Itachi – into those dark, dark eyes – before looking at Pain. "Sasori is right," he drawled, his lip curling in amusement – Sasori was nothing if not deadly straightforward, "I am taken, so to speak."

Ignoring the innuendo of that, Kisame sought clarification, his thin, waxy eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. "Let me get this straight...Sasori is my partner, then? How will that work?"

"More importantly," Hiruko growled, the puppet's tone rife with irritation – Sasori hated waiting, "why does it have to work?"

Orochimaru echoed their sentiments when he enquired, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "If you would be so kind as to enlighten us?"

"You will all make it work." The edge to Pain's voice was unmistakable. They were asking questions – wanting answers they were not privy to. He made sure they were aware of that when he turned his back on them and stalked out of the room without so much as a second glance. "Dismissed."

* * *

Tobi's single visible eye flickered to the door as the handle was turned, revealing Pain, who then came to stand by the rusty balustrade of the dilapidated building. Pain's ringed eyes drank in the sight of Amegakure from his position on the tallest remaining skyscraper.

"Sasori and Orochimaru have worked well together," Pain said at last, gripping the metal railing as he did so. "I don't understand why it was necessary to split them up."

"Is that what the three asked?"

"Yes. I, however, made it clear that it was not their business–"

"Good, because it's neither their business to know nor is it yours."

With that said, conveying his finality on the matter, Tobi disappeared into the metal rust that was Amegakure, making his way down the rickety walls. It was raining; the sky was crying. The fresh memory of Itachi crying as he carried out the Uchiha Clan Massacre for the greater good flooded into the forefront of his mind.

Itachi had sought him out, apparently thinking he was Madara Uchiha, enlisting his help on the basis that it would be his revenge on the clan for abandoning him years ago. He had played along under the guise of Madara and briefly wondered if Itachi knew what had transpired – who he was, in actuality.

Perhaps.

It did not matter, though – for now. Itachi would have his hands full with Orochimaru. The Sannin represented everything Itachi was not – could not be, due to his pacifistic nature. In a bleak world, that disposition was foolish.

Tobi knew Orochimaru would show Itachi just how foolish it was.


	2. Incite

Chapter One – Incite

* * *

"You have such pretty eyes," was the first thing Orochimaru said when the Akatsuki members dispersed.

The silkiness swathing his voice like smooth velvet, the flashing amber eyes, the grin that was wide, revealing perfectly white teeth – it was all so..._strange_. Disturbing, perhaps. Itachi didn't know what to say to the man that reminded him so strongly of a slithering snake so he remained silent. He was yet to speak – he hadn't spoken during his induction into Akatsuki.

After Pain's dismissive exit, Sasori and Kisame had departed – presumably off to make haste for their next mission – leaving the two of them alone in the room.

Orochimaru regarded Itachi lingeringly for a moment after his comment. He had hoped to elicit some sort of response in the hope to study the nature of his character, but there was nothing. The response – or lack there of, rather – was odd, considering he had alluded to the Sharingan bloodline limit; coupled with the recent Uchiha Clan Masscare, he was certain his comment would slice open a fresh wound.

Oh _yes_, he was informed, all right. A young man goes and kills his whole Clan on a whim. It was oh-so deliciously newsworthy.

Casually, somewhat leisurely, so as to mask his piqued interest, Orochimaru walked to the back of the room, opening one of the hidden closets. He unhooked a black and crimson cloak from its hanger and picked up one of the straw hats strung to the side. Neatly folded underneath the hangers was a set of navy undergarments; they were plain but practical, as were the white shin guards and standard shinobi shoes.

"Here is your uniform." Orochimaru held out the Akatsuki ensemble. He tilted his head to the side, remembering his orders. "You are to wear this at all times. It's rather distastefully drab but it's protocol." His golden eyes flickered from the cloak to Itachi's ANBU attire, as if noticing it for the first time. Something stirred within. "My, that getup brings back memories."

Had Orochimaru been part of ANBU? They were generations apart in age from what Itachi had heard of the Sannin so he wouldn't know. What he did know, however, was that the man's name was taboo. 'Twisted' was the word Konoha citizens and shinobi alike used to encapsulate him, and that in itself was very disconcerting.

Itachi ensured his expression was emotionless, his voice flat, when he offhandedly asked, "You were part of ANBU?"

"So, finally it speaks!"

The corner of Itachi's lip twitched at that.

Chuckling, Orochimaru nodded, delighted in eliciting a response – one with a question attached. The lovely pull of curiosity was intrinsic to human nature. He decided he would play this question and answer game. It could be fun, he mused, being privy to delicious secrets. If there was one thing that resonated with him in all of his years it was that knowledge was power. "You could say that. I was part of Root. I'm sure you've heard of it...?"

Danzo.

It took every ounce of restraint Itachi possessed to school his features into utter blankness as he recalled the head of Root. The man was an opportunist and militarist. Itachi was not an underhanded man by nature but he had played dirty by threatening to leak Konoha's secrets, distrusting of Danzo to hold his end of the bargain to leave Sasuke unscathed. He had needed some sort of leverage, an insurance of sorts – it was the only way that Sasuke would be safe.

Indeed, he knew Danzo, but then...so did Orochimaru. Stiffening at the thought, Itachi became acutely aware of the other man in the room searching for something, and narrowed his eyes as if to see – to gauge the depth of his character. Try as he may, neither his innate ability to read people nor his Sharingan did him no favours. It was superior in combat but nothing more – he might as well have been blind at that moment.

* * *

Chimes dangling from the entrance to the small restaurant jingled. Two cloaked figures headed for one of the booths at the back of the room, away from prying eyes.

Itachi stared as two small cups were placed on the table with a bottle of sake. He hadn't ordered anything.

"I thought we might share a drink or two – get to _know_ each other."

Orochimaru was smiling at him through the unbuttoned slit of his Akatsuki cloak, one arm propped up on table, his pale hand cradling his chin as his head tilted almost lazily to the side.

"I'll pass," Itachi declined stiffly, pointedly looking at anything _but_ the Sannin. That smile...something inside him squirmed with discomfort.

There was a pause, then a loud smack. The hand that had been supporting Orochimaru's chin hit the table violently – the cutlery came _alive_, rattling.

"Nonsense. I wish for you to have a drink with me."

One of the cups was pushed across the table. The action was blatant; suddenly it didn't sound like a request as before, but a demand. Itachi dragged his eyes from the window to regard the other man coolly, noting how his smile had changed. The upturn of his lips was no longer deceptively sweet...now, it was poisonously saccharine. And yet, he was still _smiling_.

Orochimaru was obviously not used to being turned down.

Still, Itachi was no pushover – he couldn't afford to be, not in Akatsuki. This twisted sort of power trip game was one he had to play along with; he couldn't help but wonder if this was something Orochimaru initiated with all of his acquaintances. With a surge of will, his eyes bled dangerously, the darkness of his irises swirling with vibrant colour. Wordlessly, he slid the cup back to the middle of the table and stared at Orochimaru unblinkingly with his Sharingan eyes, challenging him as he leaned forward.

And then something happened.

Golden eyes flashed brilliantly, dilating as they flared with interest; fingers gripped the edge of the table as though in restraint while thin lips parted to reveal teeth resembling elongated fangs. The air seemed to dissipate as steady and rhythmical breathing became harsh, ragged.

Then, suddenly, as quickly as it had come it was over.

"You know," was Orochimaru's low, amused drawl, "if I hadn't known any better, I would have suspected that you thought I _poisoned_ the drink." He then laughed at that, as though the mere idea was simply ludicrous and out of character, going further to make a mockery of it by filling his cup with sake. The cup was raised, clinking silently with one that never came up to meet in unison. "Here's to us...and our blossoming relationship."

Itachi simply looked at him.


	3. Spar

Chapter Two – Spar

* * *

"Well, this looks like a good place as any."

Itachi narrowed his eyes at the ambiguous statement, tensing slightly. The movement of his fingers flexing went unnoticed, masked by the sleeves of his Akatsuki cloak.

They had meandered around Amegakure before leaving the village, coming to an abrupt stop on the outskirts of the war-torn village. The gradual change in scenery from rusted metal to dense foliage was a welcoming one. There was something about the rain in Amegakure. It wasn't heavy, pelting down mercilessly; instead, it was soft – a mere patter against his Akatsuki cloak as if the country was weeping.

Without even turning, continuing to face the direction of the forest with his back turned, Orochimaru spoke. "Are you ready?"

Itachi knew what was coming, even as he answered the question with one of his own. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to hit you."

And then he _moved_.

It seemed 'going to' were the objective words for Itachi jumped swiftly as Orochimaru materialised behind him out of thin air, dodging the sweeping kick intended to swipe his legs. Concentrating on his feet, he channelled the precise amount of chakra to dash up the overbearing tree casting a shadow over the clearing. Almost immediately, Orochimaru was hot on his trail, running up the rough bark of the trunk.

Although he could not see Orochimaru, since the Sannin was behind him and out of vision, he found that he didn't have to – the man's chakra was that malevolent. It felt like darkness was swallowing his shadow, reaching out like an extending, grabbing hand as if to drag him down under. In fact, he was nearly dragged down into dark depths as fingers struck, curling around his ankle.

Orochimaru tightened his hold and yanked sharply, sending Itachi careering off the tree. Smirking, he leapt over to one of the tree's branches, gracefully landing on its wooden surface. He crossed his arms over his chest, seemingly unfazed, as he watched with cool amusement as Itachi twisted fluidly in the air as a whirl of shapeless black. Just as Itachi reached the ground, the ends of his Akatsuki cloak flaring out dramatically, he vanished in a murder of crows.

The crows were silently gawking, tempting him to follow them with his eyes, blotting out the few rays of light that hadn't been engulfed by the tree's shadow. For a moment, Orochimaru did indeed follow them before snapping out of the enthrallment – what he strongly suspected was a form of genjutsu. He made a hand seal and closed his eyes, focussing on Itachi's chakra signature; although he couldn't see the other man – much less pinpoint his exact position – he could try to discern a pattern.

"You're fast," Itachi commented, his deep voice projecting as not a single entity but a scattered cacophony, echoing eerily in the vicinity.

"You flatter me, Itachi-kun," Orochimaru drawled mockingly, even as he tensed in anticipation.

"But not fast enough."

Just as that deep voice fluttered to his ears, Orochimaru jolted into action, serpentine eyes flying open. The velocity at which Itachi struck was extreme – so much so that he narrowly dodged the fist aimed at his face by twisting his body. The fist that flew past his face was fast, but the pointed knee at his stomach was even faster, sending him wheezing and spluttering as he sailed through the air.

In an instant, utterly relentless, Itachi was after him, flinging three kunai from his rear pouch while his other hand reached for his ANBU sword strapped to his back. Since it was a relatively pathetic and straightforward attack, disguising his intention of initiating kenjutsu, he expected Orochimaru to dodge it but nothing of the sort happened – instead, something wholly inhuman occurred, something that made his insides squirm.

Itachi faltered in his aerial pursuit and dropped to the forest floor, gripped by morbid fascination as a scaly emerald serpent emerged from the other man's mouth. Orochimaru had been coughing before from the brunt of his taijutsu but now he was gargling – the sound horridly reminiscent to that of spewing vomit.

But it didn't stop there.

The regurgitated snake appeared to be a living scabbard, containing a weapon evident from its white handle, embedded with a single glowing pale blue gem. It gleamed magnificently even in the shadows cast by the overbearing tree as it was pushed out of the snake's mouth, extending outwards until it was unsheathed completely for Orochimaru to grasp the handle with one hand.

Kusanagi.

Said sword slashed the air, deflecting the barrage of kunai, glinting all the while. It was an unspoken challenge brandished in cold, unforgiving steel reinforced by the dainty manner in which Orochimaru landed on the ground. In response, Itachi unsheathed his sword from his back, grasping it with one hand. He was rising to the challenge but kept the blade partially hidden in the sleeve of his Akatsuki cloak.

Orochimaru's eyes flickered to the standard edition ANBU sword before lifting to meet Itachi's hard gaze. He tilted his head to the side, considering the younger man before him intently. Despite possessing the inferior weapon, his expression was impassive, those lips set in a firm, straight line. It was the same with those eyes, glowing and unblinking, boring into his own in such a way that made shiver him anticipation.

The Sharingan.

He would finally see it in action. The prospect was exciting and it manifested outwards at his lips, curling the edges of his mouth upwards into a smile.

* * *

Itachi saw every attack before Orochimaru even fully initiated it. It was as if the Sannin was like an open book to be read; all it took to comprehend was to turn the page – for the slightest muscle tension to crease the folds of his Akatsuki cloak. After dancing across the forest floor for an extended period of time, steel clashing against steel, Orochimaru came to the same conclusion as well.

"So," Orochimaru began contemplatively, widening his smile, "the Sharingan can predict my attacks."

The statement was wholly unnecessary – Itachi had an inkling it was more for the other man's benefit, therefore he remained silent, allowing his katana to converse instead.

"Let's see. What if I do this?"

A sharp thrust of Kusanagi pierced the air, bold and straightforward, as it was aimed at his torso. Itachi altered its progression deftly, whacking Kusanagi from the side to angle it in downwards. As quick as it came, Kusanagi was retracted, taunting him with its gleam.

"Very good."

Again, that tone of voice...

"How about this?"

Itachi was forced to ignore the effect of that voice as Kusanagi struck again – this time, in a descending slash. The force behind it was heavy, intended to overwhelm him as it came crashing down. Using his other hand, Itachi placed it flat against the end of his weapon to block while readying his body to maintain balance at the brunt of Orochimaru's attack.

Orochimaru wasn't particularly strong, the strength behind his kenjutsu decent at best, but what he lacked in raw power he compensated with litheness. Itachi was taken by brief surprise when Orochimaru began to _slither_. There was simply no other apt description as the other man twisted around him, shrinking back like a coiled serpent only to return baring fangs. The lissomness was graceful as it was rivetingly disturbing.

The aesthetic quality wasn't just for show, either. To his astonishment, Itachi found it difficult to read Orochimaru's movements clearly. It was one thing to notice muscle tension and act accordingly but this was something else. The unpredictability, coupled with Kusanagi, made for a deadly combo; Itachi's eyes were darting back and forth faster than before, with a faint furrow at his brow.

Then, for some reason, Orochimaru suddenly switched tactics, going on the defensive. Itachi attentively noted his stance – the way his shoulders were aligned with his body drawn back and the quick flickers of his amber eyes as if he was being carefully observed.

Quickly shaking away the thought, Itachi darted forward, intent on delivering the final blow. It was then, as he rushed forward with deadly speed, that he noticed the ridges marring his katana when his sleeve tightened around his wrist. His offensive onslaught had worn Orochimaru down but at the cost of weapon deterioration, snagging the draped material. He had known Kusanagi was sharp, clearly outclassing his own from legend, but to the extent of leaving indents?

If the kenjutsu spar went further, dragging on until Orochimaru said otherwise, then his katana would inevitably sever, rendering him at a disadvantage. But then he was already at a disadvantage wasn't he?

As his mind worked furiously to formulate a plan, Itachi was momentarily distracted when Orochimaru utilised Kusanagi with two hands, strengthening his defenses. His eyes narrowed on those pale fingers curling around the handle before tightening, stirring something in his mind. Then, with a rush of afterthought, his gaze trained on those slender fingers, something clicked.

Itachi rushed forward, his long legs eating up the distance between them quickly, his gait purposeful. Drawing his arm back, he gathered momentum before executing a swift horizontal slash at Orochimaru's neck. As expected, Kusanagi was raised to fend off the cutting steel; what the Sannin failed to register, however, was the added strength of his other hand. He ended up slicing cleanly through Itachi's sword, tearing through the tempered steel until the tip of Kusanagi reached the floor to be angled downwards.

Everything happened so fast that by the time Orochimaru realised his mistake, it was too late, even as the top half of Itachi's katana flew off uselessly with a deafening clang.

Broken yet sharp steel pressed against his neck.

For a moment, neither said a word – Itachi staring stoically in spite of his victory at his partner who in turn looked surprised. Orochimaru blinked once, twice, several times before curving his lips into a smile. He made no effort to push away the broken blade at his neck and instead looked Itachi straight in the eye.

It must have been a trick of light, Itachi thought with confusion, resisting the urge to frown as something akin to satisfaction shone in Orochimaru's eyes since the other man had lost. If that wasn't mystifying enough, he was even more confused by what Orochimaru said next.

"Did you enjoy the show?"

The tone, the direction of his gaze, the smile – it didn't add up, yet the man was _still_ smiling.

"Damn you, Orochimaru."

"How did you know?"

Itachi's gaze sharpened when something emerged from the forest floor. It strangely resembled a plant, a Venus flytrap from the top until it surfaced to stand, and only then, deeming it human to a degree as he saw yellow eyes, did he suddenly understand Orochimaru's question. He watched, inwardly fascinated, as the creature spoke – rather, the black half growled.

"A better question would be: how do you _always_ know?"

Orochimaru chuckled quietly, the rumbling sound dark and mysterious, as were his words, "I have my ways, Zetsu."

With that said, leaving his words hanging in the air, he simply turned on his heel and proceeded to walk away nonchalantly, his cloak billowing dramatically.

Itachi accepted the mission scroll from the creature named Zetsu without looking, blindly taking the scroll. He hadn't sensed a spectator to their spar, not even having the faintest inkling someone had been watching, but from what Zetsu had remarked, Orochimaru had. What was weirder was that Orochimaru uncannily seemed to _always_ know.

* * *

**A/N: **If you've played the Naruto: Ultimate Ninja Storm games, you'll notice that the way Orochimaru moves isn't normal – it's _inhuman_. I attribute it to his true form. You can watch clips on Youtube to see what I'm talking about.


	4. Curiosity

**A/N: **So, I was reading Naruto manga chapter 648 and I was struck by how much the dark long-haired man looks like Orochimaru on page 14. It's seemingly not Orochimaru's father for various reasons (time period, village allegiance, snake eyes with purple markings which I believe are hereditary considering Orochimaru's appearance as a child) but still..._wowowow_. Then again, there could be this dramatically convoluted back-story that Orochimaru was originally from another village, his parents were killed in a shady matter and then thus the malice leading to his desire to see Konoha fall etc., throw in whatever you like.

Personally, I believe Orochimaru was just one of those kids that aspired to be greater, which hopefully I articulate well in this story._  
_

* * *

Chapter Three – Curiosity

* * *

Itachi stared down at the information on the mission scroll. The face of a unfamiliar man filled the majority of the unravelled sheet along with two smaller pictures taken at a different angle – one from the side to capture his profile, the other from the back, highlighting his short, navy-blue spiky hair. Other than the caption beneath the pictures, there wasn't much text, leaving little doubt to what their objective was for the layout bore a striking resemblance to that of Bingo Books.

The task was simple enough – the assassination of a set target. It was almost too simple.

"What does it say, Itachi-kun?" Orochimaru enquired distantly, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder as he continued to walk straight.

"Our mission is to track, locate and kill a man called Kohaku."

Orochimaru made a quiet affirming, "Mmm," sound at that. He wasn't surprised by the nature of their mission. People – shinobi and civilians alike – died everyday. Death was inescapable, be it carried out as clandestine murder or by natural cause. The reality of it was nothing new – or, at the very least, what he hadn't come to already accept with of course an exception. Still, _he_ was not the one underneath the spotlight.

What he was _instead_ surprised by was the tone of Itachi's deep voice.

Twisting his lips at the thought, Orochimaru intentionally slowed his pace, lingering until he was strolling next to the man in question. Naturally, Itachi registered the deliberate pace, slanting his head to pin him with a hard stare.

Those impossibly dark, dark eyes were boring into his own in such a way that Orochimaru was sorely tempted to laugh. So cold, he thought with a touch of amusement, smirking slightly. They might as well have been forged from water – frozen to become ice. Now, if only the Sharingan were to be activated, painting the black canvas with streaks of deep rose-red...

The smirk curling his mouth smoothed into a smile. Orochimaru knew Itachi could not see the smile with the concealing collar provided by his Akatsuki cloak, much less understand it.

It made him smile even more.

The smile was still playing at his lips when he drawled a querying, "So?"

"Yes?"

Such a deep voice indeed, Orochimaru mused as he remembered Itachi's reading of the scroll, struck by how masculine it was – how low it sounded. Aloud, he said, "What do you think?"

Itachi allowed some time to think carefully over what was being asked of him. It was a simple assassination – rather straightforward actually – but that was not what Orochimaru was asking him. The vagueness shrouding the question served to remind him that Orochimaru was not an ordinary person, which was reflected in his cryptic way of doing things – like the current conversation, if he could call it one. "I've completed similar assignments before," he replied after a moment.

"As have I," Orochimaru said simply, echoing the sentiment. Unspoken between them was the obvious fact that they had both been affiliated with the darker side of Konoha through ANBU, even if Root was a division of it. "I suppose it's nothing new, isn't it? Getting your hands dirty, I mean."

Dirty.

Itachi's eyes darkened at the word, thinking of how unnervingly accurate it was when it came to describing what it was to take a life, and the stain it left on hands – a soul. If anything, he should know, seeing as how his hands had been bloodied that fateful night of the Uchiha Masscare. "No, I suppose not," he agreed at a length, blinking at the direction of his brooding thoughts. Shaking them away mentally, he turned to face Orochimaru, only to narrow his eyes.

During his musings, the Sannin had opted to tip his head back, now staring at the bright, clear sky. They had well and truly left Amegakure and with that the rain. It was apparent in the sunshine – more than that, it was obvious in the golden rays highlighting the paleness of Orochimaru's skin. What little amount visible from the high collar contrasted with the black of his cloak as well as his hair, making his complexion seem lighter than it actually was.

It was a startling, if not quite interesting, thing to witness. The shadows from the forest no longer clung to his face like a swathing, malevolent thing even if he still exuded darkness through his emanating aura. When Orochimaru turned to look at him, the sun brightened his eyes too, giving the gold a sort of honeyed glaze. There were so many thoughts reflected in his eyes, and yet, the true nature of them remained a mystery.

Oddly enough, it felt like Orochimaru was playing on it, pulling the string of curiosity.

Itachi shifted his gaze to look anywhere else but at Orochimaru, becoming uncomfortably conscious of his blatant staring. It was uncharacteristic of him to openly stare, but as he looked at the ground, gathering his bearings, he could not dismiss the world of information in Orochimaru's eyes. He decided to pull that string, seeing as he needed information regarding the next chapter of his life.

Espionage was, after all, essential for a spy.

Keeping his voice perfectly neutral, his expression shuttered, Itachi raised his head to pose the question, "Does Akatsuki do these sort of missions often?"

"You could say that." Orochimaru looked thoughtful, relishing in the curiosity underlying Itachi's question. That deep voice might have been flat, but he knew better. Curiosity was part of human nature, after all. Instead of plainly answering, he opted a different approach, responding with a question of his own. "How much do you know about Akatsuki?"

True to his cold, quiet demeanour, Itachi's distant reply was, "Not much."

"Is that so," Orochimaru muttered, as though more to himself, smothering a laugh at the other man's expense. Highly inappropriate, it would have jarred their conversation and as much as he loved being provocative, taunting others whimsically to make the windmills move, he had something else in mind – like playing on that lovely pull synonymous with curiosity.

That very pull glinted in Itachi's eyes, black and cold as they were, and in response, Orochimaru felt something pass through him. It was an undeniably powerful surge, one that sent shivers of excitement through his body, such that his lip curled in a telltale manner. Knowledge was indeed power. He knew this well, feeling it coursing through his body as he held the answers Itachi's sought.

"Akatsuki is a criminal organisation, as I'm sure you very well know," Orochimaru began, the smoothness of his voice washing over Itachi as he listened intently. "One does not simply join without an invitation. I suppose yours was the Uchiha Clan Massacre."

Itachi was disturbed on levels he should have expected. For the most part, he was prepared for it – still, it was disconcerting that Orochimaru would liken his crime and the defection following it to an invitation, more or less similar to an interview. The disregard – or was it conscious acceptance? – of immorality sent a chill up his spine, however due to his exceptional emotional control, he kept his expression devoid of emotion.

"And yours?" he ventured carefully, turning to face the enigma of a man next to him. "What crime did you commit?" With what he had just heard, Itachi fully expected Orochimaru to gloat, relishing in the abominable crime he had committed. Part of him wished Orochimaru would, just so that it would make everything so much more easier for him – to be acutely aware of where he was now as part of Akatsuki.

The low, smooth tone of Orochimaru's voice was certainly not helping in that regard sounding so polite – if not deceptively, cunningly, so, intended to lull him into a false sense of security. The answer he received was even less helpful, making him ponder instead of giving him closure through confirmation of the malevolence he both saw and felt whenever he looked at Orochimaru.

"Why, I dared to dream, of course."

* * *

**A/N: **Orochimaru's tendency to condone his actions in a twisted sort of way always struck with me. When he kills Fukai (eight tails jinchūriki) it's because he wants to "fill his heart". Or mercy killing the Amegakure orphans. Or giving Sasuke his power in exchange for his body. Perhaps even mercy killing Hiruzen because he's not fit to be Hokage due to his old age and destroying Konoha because it's become (regrettably) tranquil when other villages are preparing for war.


	5. Gift

**A/N:** Just watched an AMV about Itachi. The song is 'Undone' from the video 'Love and Honor' (keywords) and it's really beautiful.

* * *

Chapter Four – Gift

* * *

"By the way before I forget, here."

It was highly unlikely that Orochimaru would forget _anything_, even the most seemingly trivial of matters. Those golden eyes didn't miss a thing. Peculiar, though it may be, Itachi felt the keenness of penetrating gold orbs more than he actually saw it. Ever since realisation of his blatant staring had dawned on him, he had refrained from looking directly at the other man. Still, for Orochimaru to say such a thing...

Itachi was wary when he lifted his right hand at the unspoken request glimmering in Orochimaru's eyes. A plain small black box was placed in his empty palm.

"What is it?" he questioned impassively, infinitely curious but unwilling to show just how much he was. The box was so light it was as if there was nothing inside.

Orochimaru eyed the box before curving his lips into a smile. "A welcoming gift."

The words, murmured softly, _warmly_, had the opposite effect – Itachi didn't move, staring unblinkingly at the box.

"It's not from me if that's what you're thinking," Orochimaru teased with a chuckle after discerning the hardened steel in Itachi's eyes. The man's coldness never ceased to amaze him. He wondered just how icy it was. Seeing was just one of the five bodily senses. To touch... "Then again, there are different type of gifts as I'm sure you well know. If not, I could show you..."

Orochimaru trailed one pale fingertip suggestively down the corded length of Itachi's exposed arm. He never got very far, though, for as soon as his fingertip made contact, he found his wrist shackled in a deathly tight hold.

"Do not touch me." The threat was not only made dangerously clear through his fingers, gripping so strongly it was borderline painful digging into white flesh, but also through his eyes that clashed with gold. Itachi accentuated the threat by squeezing for good measure, supremely unaffected at the hiss of displeasure elicited in response, before lowering his hand.

The calculated slowness of his movements was blithely warding – mocking, perhaps. It made the smile vanish completely; the surprising warmth of Itachi's skin in contrast to his demeanour as if it had never been. Sneering, Orochimaru turned away as he rubbed his wrist, resisting the urge to wince as he worked the inflamed nerves. He was still massaging his wrist when he heard the telltale brush of skin against wood.

Itachi stared down at the silver ring encased in the box. The gemstone embedded into the precious metal gleamed magnificently with hidden power, more-so underneath the sun's illuminating brilliance, giving it an ethereal glow. Its hue was a very deep shade of red – not quite scarlet, vivid with bursting colour nor crimson tinged with faint pink but actually vermillion. Upon closer inspection, his thoughts were confirmed as the translation of the symbol etched on the gemstone matched the colour.

Tentatively, somewhat hesitantly, Itachi went to touch it. Suddenly, the ring flared to life with a bright twinkle, as though it was a living thing in its own right. He traced the silver-white band for a moment, focussing on the warmth it sent shooting through his body in a tingling sensation. It was a nice feeling to be sure, certainly, but a strange one nonetheless as the ring was an inanimate object.

Or was it?

"Remarkable."

Itachi glanced up, immediately noting Orochimaru's observant eyes trained on his finger. There was something about his tone – among other odd things – that resonated within Itachi. It took him a bit to realise that it was curiosity mirroring his own, which was why it struck a chord within.

"I remember when I first received mine."

Itachi, who had been enthralled by the ring, could only imagine how Orochimaru had been too. It must have been an interesting sight to witness. He was curious about just how those serpentine eyes would have looked but didn't dare venture, for it would have been a personal experience, instead asking, "What colour is your ring?"

"Slate blue." Orochimaru lifted his left hand, displaying his ring clearly as he directed his palm towards his face. He chuckled quietly, smiling faintly as dark eyes narrowed on his smallest finger. He chuckled again when they narrowed further as they met his amused eyes and, after a pause, decided to enlighten Itachi. "I suppose it's different when you're looking in through the glass instead of looking out."

So strange, Itachi mused, returning his gaze to the ring. Orochimaru always spoke in riddles – he should have been used to it by now.

"I was told that it goes on your right ring finger."

Following the Sannin's suggestion, Itachi did just that, picking up the ring to slide it down his right ring finger. The ring itself was quite large, at least two sizes bigger than his finger. Still, if he considered his fingers to be thin, Orochimaru's pinky was even tinier and much more slender, appearing deceptively frail. As expected, deducing that the ring contained special properties to fit Orochimaru's small finger, the ring shrunk, accustoming to his size.

What he did _not_ expect was dark colour inking his nails.

Earlier, Itachi had noticed the apparent nail polish on Orochimaru's fingernails. Given the odd purple markings along the bridge of his nose, he had dismissed it as one of the many bizarre traits of the Sannin attributed to his fashion sense.

Such was not the case.

Itachi could only stare at Orochimaru blankly as his mind worked furiously to comprehend the nail polish. Physically, he didn't feel different even though his fingernails had suddenly darkened but it was clear there was something else at work. Perhaps, it was an insurance measure – it would certainly explain how Zetsu had been a spectator to their spar, managing to locate them deep in the forest.

"It's rather amusing when you think about it."

He was jolted to reality when a chuckle escaped Orochimaru's mouth. It was not a nice sound, not one of warmth and happiness and all those other good things, but it was a laugh nonetheless – even if it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Itachi didn't say anything, merely pinned Orochimaru with a hard stare, all the while _wondering_ why the man was laughing.

Ever since he had met the Sannin, he seemed to be thinking a lot. It was to be expected, given his duty as a spy, but that prerequisite fell short at just how often and easily Orochimaru compelled him to think, to question things. The compelling effect had never more evident now as Orochimaru threw his head back, laughing mirthfully and mysteriously while he looked on with a frown.

And, just like that, as Itachi began to think, he was given an answer, as though the other man sensed his running thoughts and was rewarding him – like he _knew_.

"You, the heir to the great Uchiha Clan, slaughtered your kin in cold blood." In emphasis, Orochimaru bravely ventured in touching Itachi's ring finger, skimming over the creamy skin in contrast to his own. "I bet they wanted you to find a nice girl and settle down – to fulfill your _duty_ as heir."

The hand shooting out enclosed around his wrist, punishing him, as were the warning words, "I told you not to touch me."

It was as if the moment before was on repeat.

What was different, however, was Orochimaru's expression – instead of an unpleasant sneer, a smile adorned his lips. "One could say that you've married Akatsuki instead, Itachi-kun."

Itachi was not expecting such a remark. Fingers slackening, he was left frowning into thin air as Orochimaru slipped out of his hold and breezed past him as though he was the unpredictable wind himself, muttering something about having reached Kusagakure's border.


	6. Scars

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews, guys! By the way, if you haven't already seen it, there's a link on my profile to a fanart called 'A Change of Season – Plum Rain'. It's exquisite with a romantic feel to it featuring none other than these two badass criminals haha. The first is to tumblr while the second link leads to deviantart. The very talented artist has a lot of other artworks featuring Itachi and Orochimaru so be sure to check them out. So precious~

Soundtrack: Despair (Sasori's theme)

* * *

Chapter Five – Scars

* * *

Kusagakure was a shadow of its former self.

The once lush, blooming village renown for its thick vegetation had been torn asunder by the Third Shinobi World War. Nature itself seemed to be scarred, reflecting the war-torn state of the village as deep, gaping ravines fissured the dry earth while various rivers ran stagnant. The massive Kannabi Bridge was the only monument left. It was broken but not completely destroyed; deteriorating yet still somehow standing.

Such was the same state of the villagers scrambling through the village. The moment Itachi set foot in Kusagakure, cracking a fallen branch as he did so, hearing it crunch underneath his soles so loudly it was almost painful, he felt _it_.

Orochimaru felt it too. The feeling was so strong, so powerful yet somehow so dead at the same time. The teeming life was rife with desperation, hunger gnawing at the villagers' faces through sunken cheeks, their eyes alive but not on their own volition.

"It's been years since I've been here," Orochimaru remarked quietly, almost wistfully, as his keen eyes drank in the vestiges of war. "Dear me, the Third Shinobi World War really took a toll here."

Itachi remained silent despite his heart hammering in his chest in agreement. He fought the instinctive urge to shiver, knowing fully the reaction to his flooding memories would give him away as not a cold-hearted criminal but a man with a heart. The Third Shinobi World War was one he was familiar with. It was part of his past, ultimately shaping him to be the person he was now, scarred by the trauma – the horror and bloodshed he had _seen_.

Judging from Orochimaru's tone, it seemed he had witnessed the same thing. It was almost..._strange_ in that sense. They were so similar yet so different. Itachi was curious as to just how big the space between them stretched.

"Did you participate in the Third War?" Itachi questioned impassively, speculating on just how much Orochimaru had seen since he knew little or next to nothing about the other man.

Orochimaru paused in the act of eating his baked roll. "Not quite," he answered vaguely after a moment, resuming what he had been doing before the abrupt question. He took a small bite of his roll, automatically licking his lips when the sweet glaze moistened his mouth. "By then, I was working for Root. Certainly, I was out on the battlefield but not on the front lines – if you get what I mean."

Sadly, Itachi knew exactly what he meant, thinking of his own time in ANBU. To be part of ANBU was prestigious, a great honour especially given his young age of induction, yet the very nature of the sect was tainted in blood by the underhanded missions of secrecy and murder. Once again, he was reminded of their similarities. Defecting from the same village, joining Akatsuki, partaking in war...

"The Second War," Itachi began, recalling Orochimaru's title and the weight it carried, probably more-so now with his menacing missing-nin status, "is one you are familiar with, yes?"

"Indeed," Orochimaru replied dryly, the faintest of sneers darkening his otherwise pale face. "It's the war where I rose to glory – if you could call it that, I suppose."

Something was off with what he had just said. Itachi summed it up succinctly when he said, in the flattest tone, as though it was more of a statement than a question, "You don't seem pleased."

Unexpected laughter flowed from Orochimaru's mouth. The laughter itself was to be expected, since the Sannin always found amusement in the weirdest things, however the edge to it was out of the blue. It was darker than what Itachi was used to hearing, the usual hollowness absent in its rich, drawling sound that carried something. If Itachi was not mistaken, Orochimaru sounded...bitter.

It turned out Orochimaru was.

"Do you know want to know a secret, something they never tell you at the academy?" Orochimaru lowered his voice to a mere whisper, compelling Itachi to strain his ears to hear what he said next. "War is a pointless, vile thing but more than that it's a test. Only when you're still standing afterwards do you realise just how unfortunate you are to have passed with flying colours."

And then he laughed, increasing his pace. Like before, it was a bitter laugh, one that struck a chord within Itachi who watched him go with a look in his eyes that was too old for someone of his young age.

Suddenly, the space between between them didn't seem so big.

* * *

"Did you get any leads, Itachi-kun?"

Itachi shook his head as he exited the tavern in the middle of Kusagakure. "No one seems to want to talk."

Orochimaru grimaced at that. Together, their quick, lengthy strides hinting of their efficiency, they made their way along the dirt path down the main road. Their target was proving to be rather elusive. While it was commendable, it was also irritating since it was their mission to kill him. To make matters worse, just as Itachi iterated, no one seemed to want to talk and instead shrugged their alleged ignorance.

Naturally, Orochimaru knew better. Still, while he could read people like an open book, deciphering telltale human reactions, he was unable to read their minds. Such a feat was out of reach even for someone of his calibre. Then again, it was also a good thing. It served to remind him of his goals – exactly what he aspired to be, transcending that which made humanity weak; transforming from a snake to a dragon.

The grimace vanished at that trail of thought, smoothing into a smile as he thought of his ambition. He was so close, so _deliciously_ close. The close propinquity to his goal was a very palpable thing in the form of the very person who walked beside him. So close, he thought with longing, shifting his arm in excitement at the prospect of his ambition dangling temptingly near his fingertips. The slight movement caused Itachi's arm to brush against his.

So close.

Even through the thickness of their cloaks, Orochimaru could feel him – feel _Itachi_. Cold, strong and distant, the heir to the Uchiha Clan lived up to his ruthlessly efficient reputation. He seemed to radiate an intense type of energy, one that seemed to ward yet taunt his own powerful spirit, and it was a wholly suffocating feeling. Darkness, power, youth – Itachi was everything Orochimaru wanted.

Perfection.

Suppressing an inappropriate sigh of delight, Orochimaru briefly closed his eyes, pushing away his wildly running thoughts. It was unbecoming of him to dwell on it when it was not yet time. In order to achieve what he so desired, he needed a plan and therefore he needed a clear, level-headed mind. Just from their spar alone, with that fleeting taste of impressive genjutsu, it was clear Itachi was more than formidable.

As his mind began formulating a plan, methodically sifting through variables, he became so engrossed that he failed to notice the incoming blur. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. It took Orochimaru a few seconds to realise that his bread roll – he had bought another one while looking for leads on their target – had been snatched from his then-slack fingers.

Itachi, on the other hand, had immediately noticed it. He had sensed the patter of light, hasty footsteps from behind but feigned ignorance since it would draw unwanted attention. Now, he was regretting doing so, watching the fearless boy brush past them.

Something squirmed uncomfortably inside his stomach when Orochimaru made his move, baring his deadly fangs. His anxiety morphed into a rumbling sense of dread when snakes, hissing with venom and deadly in appearance, shot out of Orochimaru's sleeve like a grasping hand. The boy was plucked from where he was running, coming to stand in front of them as the snakes retracted.

Before, the boy had been utterly brave, not even bothering to stop. Now, in front of Orochimaru, however, appearing larger than life itself as he towered over the boy's tiny, diminutive form, he was reduced to nothing – he was less than nothing. The fearlessness drained out of his dirty face like a bleeding wound, poison seeping in through the invisible punctures; the armour of courage, wrought by necessity through poverty, seemed to tear at the seams.

It was all Itachi could do not to snatch the boy and make off with him. Fingers curled inwards to form tight, struggling fists as his heart clamoured to take action. Despite knowing this was part of his duty, locking away his emotions to the furthermost recesses of his mind, he found it difficult to simply remain idle in the face of impending death, fully knowing it was preventable. It was _so_ hard.

Once again, Itachi's duty that had been signed in blood by the death of his clan seemed to fall short at the hands of one man.

He subtly peered out of the corner of his eyes, watching the man in question. What he saw infinitely bothered him. There was no readable emotion etched on Orochimaru's pale, sharp face, and that was what truly irked him. Unpredictability. It was such a small, trivial thing yet it somehow bothered him for he fully expected Orochimaru to sneer and kill the boy in cold blood, cruelly punishing him for theft with the price of his life.

Instead, the inconceivable happened. It took every ounce of self-control Itachi honed over the years _not_ to gasp.

"You know," Orochimaru drawled with a touch of amusement, lowering his body to the ground, uncaring or otherwise failing to notice that the ends of his cloak became smudged with mud, "stealing is not very nice."

And then he raised his hand. The swift, harsh blow that would have fatalistically and decisively killed never came, instead replaced with kindness that touched the boy – literally so. Orochimaru placed his hand on the boy's thin shoulder and together, huddled closely like a father leading his son, they moved away from the road, entering a small restaurant.

Itachi followed them wordlessly, trailing behind as though encroaching on their space would ruin the moment. His hands were no longer clenched tightly and simply hung lifelessly at his sides as he contemplated the very essence of life that had been given new meaning. The woman taking their orders was talking rapidly, smiling sweetly at Itachi as he tersely requested onigiri, obviously charmed by his handsome looks, but he paid her no attention – for it was _stolen_.

The boy might as well have been Orochimaru himself, dashing past him to steal his roll, capturing his food and much more. There was something about the scene playing out before him, about how Orochimaru made small talk with the boy, picking up on his social cues to ask positive questions, appearing as though he genuinely cared about him even though, by chance of theft that should have ended with his death, they had just met.

"Who's he?"

Itachi, who had been staring at the pair, was startled by the innocently posed question and the small finger jabbed his way. While he managed to maintain his composure, he did not have time to produce an answer – rather, the reply was taken out of his hands when Orochimaru's murmuring voice rang out and gold eyes flashed, silently urging him to play along.

"He's my friend."

Once again, Itachi's exceptional emotional control was tested. He passed with flying colours, inclining his head in agreement at the boy's questioning look. The inclination was slight, nearly infinitesimal, but it was enough to cast a genjutsu of sorts – the illusion that they were friends. After that, he simply eased his back against the cushioned chair, closed his eyes solemnly and listened to their conversation.

"Oh, that's nice. You must be really happy, right? Friends are nice."

"Yes. We're very happy. Aren't you?"

"Nope. There isn't much be to happy about in the village."

"Why is that?"

"Ahh...I shouldn't say."

"You can tell us. You can trust us."

"It used to be nice here, you know – really bright, even after the war. But ever since that...man took over, it's been bad."

"Who is this man?"

"He's what everybody calls the boss. Koha–ah, I'm sorry I really shouldn't be talking about it."

"Why not? Besides, you sound angry. Did he do something to you?"

"He...killed my parents."

"That's horrible. Tell you what, how about you go earning the things I bought you?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to show us where the boss lives."

"As much as I don't wanna...I'll do it. It's the least I can do for you guys."

The rustle of clothes anchored Itachi back to reality. Every word had weighed heavily on his mind – on his very conscience as images filtered in and out of his shuttered vision in accordance. The irony of the conversation was so twisted, reminding him of just what he had done leading up to where he was now, and part of him had participated in the exchange even though he had never uttered a word.

Slowly, so as to gather his bearings, Itachi cracked open his eyelids, immediately coming to meet a pair of familiar slitted eyes. More irony, he thought, feeling that intensely strong pull of curiosity with how little he knew of Orochimaru. By now, he was familiar with the striking colour of Orochimaru's serpentine eyes. The thoughts reflected there, however, were a completely different story no matter how many times their gazes clashed.

He waited until the boy excused himself to the bathroom before asking the question clawing at his mind. "Why did you do that?" Unspoken was that they would have found their target sooner or later without indulging the boy.

"No one in the village was willing to speak about Kohaku but the moment I saw the boy, I knew," Orochimaru answered knowingly, lightly drumming his dainty fingers on the table. The soft, rhythmic sound seemed to jar with what he said next for the insight was powerful. "Children are very impressionable. You'd be surprised at what they've seen at tender ages – especially those involved, either on their own accord or unwillingly, with war."

Holding Itachi's hard gaze, Orochimaru leaned forward intently, reiterating his opinion on war. "The burden they carry, the scars they hide...sometimes I think that something else died the day when they were supposed to."

At one point, Itachi had been that scarred little boy. Underneath his ruthless facade, the darkness of duplicity, he probably still was and he couldn't help but wonder – couldn't help but fathom if Orochimaru, beyond their partnership based on deception, through the lies and the space between them, could see right through him.


	7. Power

Chapter Six – Power

* * *

"Over there. That's where the boss usually is."

The boy's hushed intonation was unnecessary for the scene spoke for itself.

Low, dim lanterns flickered sporadically, casting fleeting light over the entrance to the tavern before dying, darkness shadowing once more. The irregularity of the light cast eerie patterns against the concrete wall, creating shadowy illusions that were different with the figures filtering in and out through the reinforced door. Each time the door was flung open, smoke would escape in floating clouds, only to falter before dying an ominous death.

From the third level of the adjacent building, Itachi scrutinised the entrance to the seedy underground tavern with keen, perceptive eyes. There were plenty signs of human passage which could potentially be problematic, depending on how their assassination would unfold. The best plan of action would be silent infiltration followed by a quick death, executing their target efficiently before melding with the shadows.

Such was the ANBU way.

At that trail of thought, recalling Orochimaru's shady involvement with Root, Itachi broke off from the window. To his surprise, Orochimaru wasn't paying the boy nor the building layout any attention. Instead, his focus was on his rather girlishly long nails.

For a stunned moment, Itachi was inwardly taken aback at the sight. Sitting perched – there was simply no other word for his dainty posture – on the windowsill down from his, Orochimaru had one thigh elegantly draped over the other as he absently shook his leg in a supremely unconcerned, habitual fashion. His Akatsuki cloak was unbuttoned, the lapels billowing to and fro across his slim body, flaring outwards as it pooled around his long legs in a swathing dark shimmering mass.

With the looseness of his cloak, Itachi was given full, clear view of Orochimaru's profile. The pouring moonlight danced across his pale features lightly, highlighting the sharp contours of his pale face. Before he could stop himself, he followed the angled line of Orochimaru's high cheekbone with his eyes, trailing downwards until he reached a smooth jawline.

There was something about him – about Orochimaru. The longer Itachi stared, the more he came to understand just what had him entranced. Much like the nature of the Sannin himself, the androgynous quality was peculiar. Orochimaru was undeniably male, that much was certain from his physique, yet the way he sat was so delicate he appeared feminine. The shiny cascade of his dark hair did no favours in that department, either.

"See anything you like, Itachi-kun?"

Even the way Orochimaru spoke was odd, not bothering to glance up as he continued to inspect his fingernails. Itachi ignored the innuendo coating that faintly husky voice. "We need to formulate a plan," he informed the Sannin at a length. "We need to do some reconnaissance to survey the compound. Our target**–**"

"That won't be necessary," Orochimaru cut in with a drawl, finally raising his head to meet Itachi's hard gaze. "In fact, that's not how these things work."

Itachi would have been a fool to mistake the sudden edge to Orochimaru's voice as friendly. In the blink of an eye, as if an imaginary switch had been flicked, Orochimaru's demeanour changed, becoming dangerous as he gracefully slid off the windowsill. Gone was the delicate veneer as he inspected his fingernails with something akin to boredom, replaced by an intensity that was so compelling in nature.

Slowly, almost mockingly as though deigning to do so, Orochimaru closed the distance between them, one hand absently toying with a silky lock of his hair. The casual movement was like laughter amongst the tension seeping into the room so thick it was suffocating. Stoic as ever, Itachi firmly stood his ground, unflinchingly meeting a challenging gold gaze. If anything, the indifference seemed to _please_ Orochimaru, who curved his lips into a predatory smile.

The dangerous come-hither smile was playing tauntingly at his lips when he stopped in front of Itachi. The distance was just out of reach at an arm's length, calculated to tease which was emphasised when he murmured, his voice rich with dark insinuation, "Let's get something straight, shall we?"

It was another game of sorts. The deck was shuffled from the moment Orochimaru made his suggestive comment. Cards were dealt, each placed in their hands, waiting to be played.

Orochimaru made the first move.

"You're quite the shinobi, Itachi-kun, I'll give you that," Orochimaru complimented softly, tilting his head as he stared into black eyes whose owner had an even blacker soul. "Slaughtering the Uchiha Clan is an impressive feat. The fact that you are here partnered with me is living proof of your prowess."

Itachi placed his card face down. "Do not loop me in as an extension of you," he said coldly, reading between the twisted lines of the Sannin's apparent praise. "Do you truly believe that my being partnered with you is in my favour?"

The question was rhetorical, evident when he answered it himself. Itachi flipped his card over. "It is the exact opposite."

"Mmm, is it, now?" From his exaggerated drawl alone, it was clear Orochimaru believed otherwise. Still smiling, he moved to the side, brushing past Itachi as he began to circle him. "You should respect your elders, Itachi-kun. Didn't your dear mother teach you that," he paused, licking his lips to test the flavour of his next words which were deliciously bittersweet, "before you bid her a violent farewell?"

It was just a game, Itachi said to himself, irked by Orochimaru's deceptively polite allusion to his bloody past. Aloud, he pointed out, "Age is nothing but a number."

"Ah, an interesting point." By now, Orochimaru was next to Itachi, standing so close they might as well have been touching. It was ironic in that sense, since it was clear they were not seeing eye to eye, merely standing side by side as they faced opposite directions. "But surely with age comes experience."

"Experience is a loosely used term," Itachi countered tonelessly, the idleness suggesting he didn't consider the matter important as he surreptitiously peered out of the corner of his eye. "When it comes down to it in the heat of battle, all that separates you from death are your wits."

Itachi then played all of his cards.

What happened next was as quick as lightning. The kunai he drew at tremendous speed spun in his index finger through the metal loop, rotating in the air as it flashed between them. It stopped spinning when Itachi gripped the handle deftly, the sharp tip pointed backwards directly into Orochimaru's open neck. The tip was not touching, but it didn't have to be, for the threat – the physical demonstration of his words – was made abundantly clear.

"Do you fear death, Orochimaru?" Itachi asked quietly, flexing his fingers wrapped around the kunai in emphasis. There was a loud intake of breath from the boy watching the scene with wide eyes, ensnared by the negative energy saturating the room, but neither Akatsuki member paid him any attention. So engrossed were they in their little game of wits that they only had eyes for each other, heavily narrowed as they were.

At long last, after deathly silence covered the room like a thick blanket, Orochimaru played his final card. It was placed on the table face down. "Not in the way you would ever understand," Orochimaru remarked cryptically and, hiding a faintly rueful smile in his hair, he glided back to the windowsill.

Not once did they ever touch.

A furrow creased Itachi's brow as he contemplated those strange words of weakness. For Orochimaru to actually answer his question, much less own up to his fear of death... There were no words. Eloquence escaped him as his gaze locked onto Orochimaru's retreating back, lingering on the long flow of his dark hair that swayed against his wide hips.

Orochimaru padded back to the windowsill, sliding onto the wooden surface leisurely. Although his movements were slow, they were no lacking in refinement as he swung one leg over the other to the point of arrogance. It naturally oozed off him as he placed his elbow on his raised knee, leaned forward intently while tilting his head, and simply stared at Itachi while supporting his chin with brilliantly gold eyes.

"Very well," Orochimaru conceded sweetly with a smile, "we'll do things your way, Itachi-kun – for now."

It seemed Itachi had gotten his way. Still, as they made preparations, locating points of entry from afar and deciding on battle tactics, Itachi couldn't shake off the feeling that he hadn't gained anything other than a shallow victory.

Orochimaru's card remained face down.

* * *

Death descended upon Kohaku like a malevolent shadow. The door to his private back room rattled violently, as though the brass knob was a living thing in its own right as the lock was engaged. There was a low, humming peal of what sounded like laughter followed by a deep, stern voice before the door was sliced apart, wooden chunks crumbling away to reveal two cloaked figures.

Kohaku didn't know what was more terrifying – the speed at which his bodyguards crumpled to the floor, the crimson eyes glowing in the darkness or the echoing laughter reverberating off every surface.

He had seen a great deal of dark things in life, mostly ordered by his own command, but it all paled in comparison before the sheer menacing aura of death's harbingers. They stepped over the rapidly pooling blood of his bodyguards nonchalantly, _eating_ the distance separating them. The more they invaded his space, the better he saw their faces as the overhanging lamp highlighted their features.

It took every ounce of self-control not to slit his own throat before they did.

One of them nearly did, drawing a kunai so fast Kohaku barely registered it if not for the glint of steel. It never nicked his skin, though, for the moment it was raised, a _slither_ of movement halted its progression.

"Wait, Itachi-kun."

Itachi.

The name rang in Kohaku's fuzzy brain as he struggled to remember where he had heard it. Such hard thinking turned out to be unnecessary the moment he raised his head, gazing into the blood-red kaleidoscope of death. The legendary Sharingan seemed to spin in accordance with his mind drawing conclusions, almost as if it could read his private thoughts – read him like an open, all-telling book.

"Orochimaru."

Although the name was uttered quietly in a reprimand, Kohaku heard it very clearly. The mere mentioning of that infamous name spurred him into utter panic. He was halfway scrambling past them towards the exit when the snake himself coiled around him. A foot descended harshly on his back, mercilessly flattening him to the bloodied ground. The scruff of his shirt was captured by fingers and then he was being dragged across the floor.

"Don't be a spoilsport, Itachi-kun. I'll have you know I adore playing with my food."

Kohaku was that food, picked apart by prodding utensils and toyed with as he was dragged down without care over piles of cold bodies, glass shards and chipped wood, feeling them scrape against his bloodied face. Relief was given to him when they reached a set of stairs, the sloping turn allowing him to twist around to alleviate the pain at his face, but it was short-lived. The hard, unblinking eyes encompassing the Sharingan bored into his own so deeply it gripped his screaming soul.

The air was cool and crisp outside, tinged with the earthen scent of nature native to Kusagakure, but it might as well have been poison. It seemed to mock his last moments as it was fresh in stark contrast to his impending doom. There was no doubt that he was a goner. The identity of the two criminals was enough to seal his fate, each hailed as geniuses – _monsters_ – in their respective rights.

Together, they were something else.

That something else hit him like a truck as he was thrown against the hard, unforgiving surface of a concrete wall. Numbly, Kohaku registered that he was already dying – the splitting ache all over his body told him that much. It took human form when a boy was gently yet surely propelled forward by the snake.

"This is the man who took everything from you, is he not?"

Through hazy, pain-filled lids, Kohaku looked at the boy who was staring at him with wide eyes. The young face in his dim vision was vaguely familiar, his mind conjuring images of perhaps the boy's parents. When the boy spoke timidly in affirmation, he was immediately whisked back to a bloody memory where that same voice was different – hoarse, breaking raggedly in rage as it echoed in a dark room.

"Go on, then. Take your revenge."

Kohaku made a strangled sound when the snake tempted the boy by placing a long, gleaming sword in his small, frail hands. The weapon seemed to glint with a mind of its own, from its ornately crafted handle across the tempered steel to its very, very sharp tip which was angled his way. It was quite heavy, that much was obvious from the way the boy struggled to hold it with one hand, soon taking the initiative to utilise his other.

"He deserves it."

The sword was raised sharply at first, sudden conviction guiding the boy's every movement, only to falter. Kohaku could only breathe shallowly at the sight of the boy hesitating, still clinging to his life. He coughed roughly as a mixture of blood and bile rose from his throat. It was disgusting, tasting vilely of death, as did the soft, encouraging hiss from what the snake said next.

"Do it."

The boy shuffled forward, tempted by the fruit given to him so graciously by the snake. Revenge was a very powerful need, one that shone brightly in the boy's wide, _alive_ eyes that appeared too big for his tiny face. He was so young, so damaged by not only the war but everything else – by _him_. Kohaku had taken away his parents that had been fortunate to survive the Third Shinobi World War.

Or so it seemed.

"Your dear parents died by his hand. Avenge them – make them proud."

Kohaku closed his eyes when the sword was raised once more, this time with complete, unbreakable conviction. He didn't need to see the tempting fruit being devoured for he rather felt it when the sword was thrust into his chest, impaling his heart the snake insisted he didn't have.

* * *

Orochimaru smiled with dark satisfaction as he cleaned Kusanagi using Kohaku's clothing. He did so slowly, savouring the moment, committing it to memory as he angled his blade to wipe the dripping blood. Meanwhile, he used his other hand to reassuringly comb through the boy's damp hair who clung to him as though he was his father, making it soothingly clear that he had done the right thing.

And he had.

"Why do you do these things?"

The unexpected question prompted Orochimaru to pause, his hand slackening, stilling as he glanced over his shoulder. Itachi was staring at him impassively, cold and distant as ever, but it was his eyes that drew amber ones. They glowed so beautifully in the dark with the Sharingan that Orochimaru nearly forgot the question, spellbound by the deep rose-red colour of them.

All too soon, Orochimaru looked away, regaining his coolly mocking composure. "What things?" he returned offhandedly, giving one last lingering pat to the boy's head before sending him on his way. Apparently, a little kindness went a long way. Oh, if only people knew just how much.

"Toy with people, try to play god with their lives." Itachi's eyes shifted meaningfully towards the boy's retreating form before flicking back to Orochimaru. "Such things are pointless."

"Hmph, words from a man with ruthless efficiency." Orochimaru stowed Kusanagi in his usual fashion, waiting until the snake slithered down his throat before enlightening the other man. "It is not something as simple as buying them out with money, or making a deal in the hope that they will carry out their end of the bargain – even being able to kill someone at a glance."

The way Orochimaru was now gazing deeply into Itachi's eyes... It was a snipe at the Sharingan, at the Uchiha Clan's power, and they both knew it.

"Such materialism or battle prowess will only get you a portion of their loyalty – of them," Orochimaru continued as he charismatically flicked his hair, exuding arrogance, which was reinforced with what he said next. "You need to look beyond what they want, seeing past what they superficially crave to find out what they really _need_. To have someone in the palm of your hand, determining their next move, holding their very life... That is true power."

That same true power had flowed through him as he guided the boy. Initially, it had just been about thievery to sate the most basic human need which was hunger wrought by poverty. After that, it had been about the simplicity and warmth of having a friend but what the boy had truly needed was someone who would listen – a person who understood his need to exact revenge.

Smiling at the thought, Orochimaru averted his attention away from Itachi, peering upwards into the dark sky. He appeared not to be quite there as he did so, but that was only because it was somewhat true. After all, only he knew of what true power was, and how he close he was to getting more of it. He was _oh-so_ close, so much so that the words smoothly rolled off his tongue, escaping his lips as the unadulterated truth of existence.

"It's that moment in time, when you have them, that you realise the tangibility of having it all."

The words hung in the air between them as Orochimaru lowered his chin, immediately drawn to the opposite handsome young man with lovely, beautiful eyes.

If only... Orochimaru widened his smile. If only Itachi knew just how close he was to having it all.

* * *

**A/N:** Orochimaru's theme at 1:18-ish (the slow, non-fighting version) encapsulates the entirety of his ambition better than I can. The rise is so shrill and escalating that it's hard to miss and it's damn brilliant! I imagine him as a child staring at the white snake and thinking of how the world, so wondrously full of secrets, knowledge and power, could fit in the palm of his hand...


	8. Nightmare

Chapter Seven – Nightmare

* * *

Itachi was disturbed.

Something odd had transpired when they had signalled Zetsu to inform him of their mission success using their rings. They had received compensation for their effort which was initially surprising. Itachi had been mildly curious about the exchange to which Zetsu had pointed out that while they were a mercenary group, they were still a group. The same system that governed Konoha – as well as every other village, with perhaps the exception of bloody Kirigakure – applied to Akatsuki.

The black half had growled that they should be more thankful for the money, hinting in a wholly unsubtle way that he could put the money to better use, alluding to other Akatsuki members' squandering spending habits while the white side had praised them for a job well done. It was humbling to know that Akatsuki, regardless of the fact that it was a criminal organisation, was not so far moved from reality with their rights and regulations.

If anything, it made the downward spiral from Konoha to Akatsuki a little easier to stomach. Just a little bit.

The peculiarity of Zetsu, a man who better resembled a plant, never ceased to morbidly interest him. His outer appearance, coupled with how Orochimaru possessed the uncanny ability to always sense his presence, made an interesting topic to mull over as they journeyed back to Amegakure. Speaking of which, Orochimaru was currently _prancing_ beside him as he chuckled maniacally about something mysterious.

_That_ was primarily why Itachi was disturbed.

Even as he looked on with a frown, Orochimaru threw his head back, closed his gold eyes and laughed mirthfully.

Itachi was now worried. The disturbing squirm in his gut morphed into slight concern for the mental stability of his partner.

As much as the man put him on the edge, Itachi would not have asked for a different partner. Orochimaru was at least two generations older than him, not to mention they had originated from the same village. Add to that his affiliation with Root, with Danzo and how he was a student of Hiruzen. The things he had seen, the knowledge contained in his brilliant – if not slightly unhinged – mind was like a gold mine, waiting to be untapped and cultivated.

Gold was the prize. Itachi was determined to get his hands on it.

And he would, Itachi vowed silently, living up to his ruthlessly efficient reputation. Being privy to Orochimaru's world of knowledge would benefit Konoha in the long term, as he could learn more about Akatsuki's inner circle while protecting his little brother and, by extension, his heart – his home. Depending on how things unfolded, he could also find a way to counter Orochimaru's abilities under the guise of partnership as a precaution.

Still, he had to tread very carefully around Orochimaru. It would be dangerous to let slip his ulterior motive of joining Akatsuki – that he was a spy.

Decision made, Itachi inched closer to his partner as they hopped from tree to tree, casually asking, "What's so amusing?"

"Oh, I'm just thinking, Itachi-kun."

"About what?" Itachi ventured lightly, as though the matter was a passing one when, in reality, it was one of utmost importance. Orochimaru thinking was practically given with his persona but no less dangerous.

Orochimaru smirked at him as he looked over his shoulder, flicking his long hair dramatically as he did so, simply because he could. "About our recent mission." He waited until he had Itachi in the palm of his hand, seeing the pull of curiosity in those black eyes before continuing. "It's rather amusing when you think about it. We defected from Konoha but it makes no difference. We're still doing the dirty work of those in power."

"What do you mean?" Itachi was wary now, not so much towards the threat Orochimaru posed, but instead on the words he was uttering silkily.

The response he received was a silent one when Orochimaru plunged his hand in his cloak, withdrew something and tossed it in the air. Itachi caught the object sailing through the air deftly, his fingers curling around its cylindrical shape. It was their mission scroll. Apparently, Orochimaru had kept it for some unknown reason, or simply because he was a strange collector of things.

Itachi took the initiative to break the seal, unravelling the white sheet. Black eyes scanned the document sceptically, clearly looking for something of importance and out of place. To his confusion, the scroll was exactly as he had seen it when they had left Amegakure. There was no big conspiracy, no shadowy detail, only a brief paragraph of outlining text and a picture of Kohaku accompanied by a small caption.

What exactly was he supposed to be looking at?

A shadow of movement startled him, though he kept his composure devoid of emotion. He tensed slightly when Orochimaru compelled him to stop, touching him for the first time ever since their little rather hostile interaction when he was given his ring. Slender, long white fingers steadied his biceps as they came to an abrupt halt on a tree, lingering for a bit before disappearing into dark sleeves.

"For a genius like me, you're a bit slow on the uptake," amusement was laced with Orochimaru's smooth voice, "Itachi-kun."

Another shadow of movement came into view, this time Orochimaru's fingers as they traced the scroll that was so similar in texture but at the same time noticeably different. The scroll was white, dull and slightly washed out from handling and smeared with ink from unsteady calligraphy, whereas Orochimaru's pale skin was smooth, unblemished. They were also soft, almost like rose petals; Itachi became highly aware of this as pale fingertips brushed against his own in a fleeting, gliding caress.

"Read this and weep," Orochimaru murmured softly as pointed to a scrawl of text, tapping it meaningfully. "Weep at how ugly the world is."

Itachi stared long and hard at the single word he had somehow missed. It was relatively small, so tiny in size compared to everything else on the scroll, but the weight it carried was devastating.

Ōnoki.

The name belonged to the Sandaime Tsuchikage of Iwagakure. Suddenly, Itachi understood what Orochimaru meant. His sharp mind made connections fast, drawing conclusions that seemed so wrong but were so unnervingly right. The assassination had been tasked by Ōnoki to Akatsuki. The exact reason was shady, unknown, but it was probably less than stellar for him to ask Akatsuki and not his own personal ANBU.

Just what had Kohaku done? How was Ōnoki, the Tsuchikage of all respected people, involved?

Perhaps, their hands weren't as dirty as he initially had believed. Orochimaru expanded on the topic with what he said next.

"It's not the first time Ōnoki has used Akatsuki," Orochimaru told him knowingly, recalling his partnership with Sasori, "nor will it be the last."

Itachi slowly raised his head, gazing deeply into serpentine eyes, disturbed on levels he should have expected.

"The world is an ugly place," Orochimaru commented in that same knowing voice, as a matter of a fact, but the words were rather poetic. They carried equal parts of poetry, truth, and insightful wisdom. "People wear masks to hide the ugliness beneath. But when you strip the masks away, all that remains is who they truly are. Perhaps, there is some beauty even if what lies beneath is ugly – for it is the truth. It sets them free."

Orochimaru raised his hand from the scroll, the sleeve of his cloak slipping down his arm just as everything else ceased to matter, towards Itachi's face. For a moment, it looked as if he wanted to touch him, to cup Itachi's cheek but at the last possible second thought otherwise.

* * *

"I'm going to go out for a drink. Would you care to join me, Itachi-kun?"

Itachi paused in the act of unbuttoning his Akatsuki cloak. He knew without looking over his shoulder that it was Orochimaru. The Sannin had a very compelling aura of power, as well as a very distinct way of speaking. Polite, yet also casual as though he had known whoever it may be for years, Orochimaru tended to mask whatever he was thinking with a seemingly permanent smile etched on his face. There was also the rolling suffix to his name.

As always, it wasn't a particularly winsome smile, Itachi mused as he shrugged off his cloak before turning around to regard his partner, but it was one nonetheless. Like before, Orochimaru had his Akatsuki cloak unbuttoned, appearing as casual as one could be. He was situated in the door frame, draped over one side rather than standing stiffly, evidently comfortable.

Perhaps too much so.

"I'll pass," Itachi declined with a small shake of his head. It would be the second time Orochimaru was asking him to share a drink. What was different was his reaction; the Sannin was just full of surprises.

Rejection seemed to bounce off his smile, almost as if Itachi hadn't stiffly declined the polite offer. Was it arrogance or indifference? Whatever it was, Orochimaru merely widened his smile, a twinkle shining in his dazzlingly gold eyes, before leaving with a swish of his cloak. Itachi followed the trail of his cloak, watching it skirt around the door frame. The last thing he saw were the dark tips of Orochimaru's flowing hair before he was left to his own devices.

Itachi released the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding until now. Solitude was a very soothing, calming thing. He felt it wash over him as he closed the door to his room and deposited his Akatsuki cloak on his bed before making his way to the bathroom. They were staying at an inn somewhere in Amegakure in separate rooms. Amegakure's security was so stringently tight that it was safe for them anywhere in the village.

Once again, he felt humbled in that sense. It made the transition of things smoother, although he wasn't one to lower his guard, unstrapping his duplicitous mask – especially before the fangs of a snake.

Itachi allowed himself a small, faint smile at the thought of his partner. Such a strange character, he thought as he peeled off his clothes, placing them neatly on the bathroom counter. His forehead protector, slashed and scarred, much like him, was then placed on top of his clothes. For a moment, he lingered with his hand on the shower door, gazing at the memento of his home wistfully.

The warm water was pleasant against his bare skin, easing the tension at the shoulders like massaging hands. Itachi basked in the feeling as he closed his eyes, thinking of the circumstances leading up to that build up of tension. It could have been said that he had been on edge ever since he met Orochimaru, with the short yet intriguing conversations following their meeting, but the anticipation was nothing like when they had entered Kusagakure.

For all of the horrible things he had heard about Orochimaru, his capacity for malice, tendency for cruelty, and the hushed whispers alluding to unspeakable evils that screamed in despair behind closed doors, they all fell short to actually meeting the man.

Itachi thought of that boy that had tried to steal Orochimaru's food, only to leave unscathed with a sense of hope, and sighed heavily at the confusion it caused. The boy had entered the shop as a broken toy and left as fixed – not quite 'new', in the wake of Kusagakure's sundered state and the sad fate of his parents, but at least given something. A glimpse of what it was like to live on the other side.

Kindness.

No, it wasn't that simple, Itachi corrected in his mind as he began to lather his body with soap. When he had questioned Orochimaru's reasoning for doing things, the Sannin had more or less stated it was to feel power through manipulation. The kindness had been all an act, equivocated with a soft smile and understanding eyes while beneath lay a power-hungry monster.

At his sudden dark trail of thoughts, Itachi could only sigh again as he exited the shower, reaching out to grab a towel. He dried his wet body swiftly and efficiently, wanting nothing more than to sleep as weariness claimed every limb. Travelling had worn him out, more than usual it seemed. Tired as he was, for some reason he found it difficult to simply sleep, buried underneath thick blankets.

Something else burdened him, something that wasn't physical in form yet somehow carried the weight of one. It felt heavy, much heavier than the things he had seen in his life – almost as heavy as the burden of dishonour he shouldered alone.

For some reason, it irked Itachi that Orochimaru didn't have a heart.

* * *

_Itachi was surrounded by blood.  
_

_There was so much of it, mercilessly tainting his sense of smell, invading his nostrils as rusted metal. It wasn't just his smell that affected. Blood stained his hands, becoming dirtier by the second as he sliced through countless shinobi. He wished he couldn't see, that he was blind, so that the pained expressions of shinobi as they succumbed to death wouldn't reach his eyes but such was not the case. _

_With the Sharingan, he saw everything.  
_

_One by one, their hacked bodies crumpled to the ground, gradually thinning until there was no one left standing on the battlefield but him. By all rights, he should have perished along with them, for something else undoubtedly did. He would have...if not for these eyes – these accursed, envied eyes that reflected feelings, that had allowed him to see where others had fallen.  
_

_It didn't have to be like this._

_But it was._

_The scene changed, the world phasing in and out in a haze before the shaky lines compressed, sharpening to utmost clarity.  
_

_Itachi was kneeling before his parents. They were sitting in a folded, respectful position, just as they had always done. Eating dinner as a family, holding a clan meeting, addressing the eldest at the wonderful news of another child... The scene was one that had happened before. It was normal. Everything was in place, their sitting position in the Uchiha Clan's home – everything except for the shadow behind them.  
_

_Why was there a shadow?  
_

_"Oh, so you're on their side now."_

_There was no spite, no hatred, nothing – just a resignation so fatalistic that Itachi began to weep even though he didn't understand.  
_

_"We understand, Itachi."_

_Itachi froze as his name was spoken by his beautiful mother. He reached out, unable to stop himself from doing so as the need to understand overwhelmed him, yet his touch never reached Mikoto.  
_

_"Itachi, promise me one last thing. Take care of Sasuke."_

_Although he didn't fully understand, Itachi had an inkling of where this was going, and he did not like it. He tried to touch Fugaku, reaching out with trembling hands, but once again it was as though he didn't exist. It made the tears drip faster down his face. But he wasn't the only one.  
_

_Someone else was crying._

_"Do not fear. This is the path you chose, is it not? Our pain will end in an instant but it's nothing compared to what you will face. Even though our way of thinking differs, I am proud of you. You are truly a gentle child."  
_

_Itachi gasped as a sharp blade was raised, faltering in wavering conviction at first, before glinting with the pale moonlight. A rough cry escaped his lips as the shadow bore down on his parents malevolently, blotting them out from the moonlight before swallowing them whole. By the time the shadow drew back, Mikoto was already lying on her back with Fugaku blanketing her, as though shielding her from death.  
_

_They were dead._

_Itachi mourned for his parents who had accepted their fate so kindly and bravely. He could only kneel before their lifeless bodies, clutching at the hope that he could somehow save them as precious blood seeped from their wounds, that he was physically there even though he was not.  
_

_At long last, Itachi raised his head, staring at the shadow with stark eyes. "You monster!" he forced through clenched teeth, tasting the salt of his tears that clung to his upper lip. "Who are you?"_

_"Who am I?"_

_The shadow's voice was low, faintly husky with a rich, drawling edge that sent shivers down his spine. If the voice were a person, possessing a face, their expression might as well have been smiling – a monster relishing in his suffering. The shadow did just that, swathing darkness dissipating slowly yet surely like a fading mask, revealing a face that was a startling splitting image of his own from the diagonal birth marks to the thick fan of silky eyelashes.  
_

_But it was eyes that drew Itachi's. They weren't his, neither black nor crimson with the Sharingan. They were gold, reminiscent to that of snakes.  
_

_"Why, I'm you, of course."_

Itachi woke up from the nightmare in a frenzy, clutching everything around him just to make sure he was there, that he was no longer dreaming. Lean fingers crushed the pillow, then the blanket rumpled around his body in complete disarray as evidence of his restlessness. But it was the tears that streaked his face that were the strongest piece of evidence, leaving glistening wet trails over his skin.

They tasted so salty just like in the nightmare.

He shook the reminder of the nightmare away, pushing the blanket down as he scampered to the bathroom. The gushing water from the faucet was cool as he splashed it over his flushed skin to his face and neck. Although he was clean, the sweat and tears now gone, Itachi remained in front of the sink, his hands gripping the counter so tightly that his knuckles blanched white as water dripped from his chin.

It was his first night away from Konoha, having immediately joined Akatsuki after the Uchiha Clan Massacre. The nightmare had been painfully cruel, forcing him to relive the traumatising moment from his childhood followed by the murder of his parents. Hopefully, it was his first and only nightmare. To experience nightmares every night...

The thought was daunting, plaguing Itachi with worry as he returned to his room, but it was nothing compared to the chill that ghosted down his spine when he noticed that the door to his room had been slightly pushed open.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh my...I didn't mean for it to be so disturbing but, well, if you heard someone crying out in their sleep, you'd check it out right? Right? RIGHT? Oh snap! Manga chapter 289 (the last page) comes to mind. Yikes!

On a lighter note, I find it incredibly amusing that Orochimaru was mentioned at the Kage Summit and how fingers were pointed at Ōnoki. The way Orochimaru was drawn with his tongue out while the topic was very serious haha~


	9. Poison

Chapter Eight – Poison

* * *

No more nightmares plagued Itachi that night, but he might as well have experienced another all the same. Peaceful sleep eluded him, forever dangling away from his outstretched hands. Every time his fingertips would come close, it would _slither_ away, always in sight but out of reach. It was like a predator watching him with unblinking, penetrating eyes, revelling in his despair as he longed to drift away into slumber.

The small amount of sleep he managed to get was poor, for he always woke up with a start, immediately snapping his head to stare at the door. In his frantic starts, adrenaline rushing through him as cold sweat drenched him to the core, he expected to see the same pair of gold eyes from his nightmare, from the snake himself, but the door remained closed. There wasn't any audible sound from the room next to his, either.

The worst part was that he didn't know to feel comforted by that.

Itachi rubbed his weary eyes as he shifted into a sitting position. He was unbelievably tired. It wasn't just his body drained – there was a noticeable ache at chest. Oddly enough, though, he hadn't sustained any damage from their recent mission. Veiled insults and animosity aside, Orochimaru and he had worked together remarkably well, dispatching the tavern with ease.

Smothering a yawn, Itachi moved about to prepare for the day ahead. He made his bed neatly before slipping into the shower in the hope that it would wake him up. To his relief, it did just that, and he exited the shower in elevated spirits.

The contentment vanished entirely when he grasped the doorknob to his room. Itachi hesitated, remembering how it had been slightly open to be just a slit, enough for an eye to peek through the opening. The thought of Orochimaru _spying_ on him was unsettling – worse, witnessing his lapse of weakness where his mask had been removed at his vulnerable state of unconsciousness.

For a moment, he imagined Orochimaru on the other side of the door, pale hand curled around the doorknob, mirroring not only his position but _him_. It reminded Itachi of the space between them – so close with similar experience, yet so far with how they had turned out as two completely different men. Perhaps, it wasn't just the door separating them.

Shaking away the thought, Itachi tightened his hand around the doorknob and twisted it sharply, throwing the door open. There was no one on the other side, no haunting slitted eyes, nothing. The entire length of the corridor was empty as well.

Itachi was comforted by it, not quite ready to be teetering precariously on the edge so early in the morning. Seconds later, the feeling was gone, replaced with burgeoning curiosity as he cautiously approached Orochimaru's room.

The door was ajar. How odd.

Hesitation gripped Itachi's body like halting fingers, holding him firmly in place as he eyed the thin opening enough for him to peek inside. The temptation to do so, mirroring Orochimaru last night, disturbed him. It would be so easy, so quick. He lingered in the hall, straining his hearing to discern any sound from Orochimaru's room. After hearing nothing, he made his decision, moving to place his eye near the door.

Itachi was mildly surprised to see nothing but sunlight. Frowning, he entered the room silently, closing the door quietly behind him. Black eyes swept across the room, narrowing further with each passing second as he scrutinised human passage – the startling lack thereof. The bed was impeccably made, almost as if it hadn't been used. The same applied to the bathroom as the shower and sink were free of residual water.

But Orochimaru had clearly been here.

There, lying incongruously on the edge of the neatly made bed, was Orochimaru's Akatsuki cloak. It was not folded – in fact, from how it hung on the edge, it looked like Orochimaru had thrown it haphazardly in any direction, uncaring where it landed.

If anything, Itachi's frown deepened as he bent down slightly to retrieve it. He distinctly recalled Orochimaru informing him of protocol to wear their uniform at all times yet here was proof that apparently the rules did not apply to him. The possibility was so dry with amusement that it made Itachi's lip curl, twitching to form into a wry smile as he scooped up Orochimaru's cloak.

Itachi placed it on the dresser, leaving it behind as he turned to exit the room before a glint caught his eye. Something slipped from the confines of Orochimaru's cloak, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Something they had both left behind.

It sang of home, calling out to Itachi, pulling not only the string of curiosity but his heartstrings as pure, untapped emotion welled strongly in his chest. Atypically trembling fingers neared the object slowly, as though he wasn't quite sure if it was real – that it perhaps would disappear if he touched it, dirtied it. In spite of everything he had done, he was allowed to touch it, to feel the smooth metal glide against his fingertips.

Orochimaru's forehead protector was unmarked. There was no slash where there should be. The only scars were the ones Itachi hid underneath his mask.

The porcelain of his mask cracked, chipping away to crumble, falling around him as his world was whisked back to a happier time. Itachi closed his eyes as he basked in the moment. He could still remember the busy, bustling streets of Konoha and the paved road to the Uchiha Clan's district; how the elderly lady near his favourite tea house would always graciously offer him two apples – one for him and the other for Sasuke.

Even then, he had his honour. Accepting the apples without paying would be dishonourable. It was her family's fruit, the product of her labour, and so he would always insist on paying. In return, she would always refuse, stating it was a gift. They would often dance around the topic until the day came where Sasuke put a stop to it by unknowingly showing the precious innocence Itachi never had the choice to cling to.

_"Aww, Nii-san, I really want one. Please, Nii-san?"_

"Did you find what you were looking for," a silky voice drawled from afar, shattering the delicate glass of the happy memory, "Itachi-kun?"

Itachi mentally cursed his inattention, snapping open his eyes with a glower. He had been so immersed in the memory that his senses had dulled to the point of neglect. Under normal circumstances, he would have surely sensed Orochimaru's incoming presence and disappeared accordingly. There was a reason he had been promoted to ANBU Captain at a young age – he was a force to be reckoned with.

That same confidence with his abilities guided his body as he surged powerfully to his feet, still clutching Orochimaru's forehead protector. Itachi turned around to address its owner, dark intent carved in his glowering features as he recalled Orochimaru _spying_ on him, only to be rendered temporarily speechless.

Orochimaru was leaning comfortably, almost lazily, on one side of the door frame like last night. What was different was his outfit.

Soft cream draped over his body like a flowing curtain, winding around the expanse of his chest loosely, tied by a simple black sash. The other tinge of black was the fitting undershirt hugging his body, peeking through the low dip of his robe that would otherwise have been bare. It clung to his body like a second skin, melding to the long column of his throat such that it seemed to emphasise the pale slenderness beneath.

The black material stopped just below his chin. Above that sharp chin was an even sharper, _deadlier_ smile.

Orochimaru lingered at the door frame before entering the room, remarking, "I don't recall giving you permission to search through my things," as he shut the door behind him. His tone was casual – almost _too_ casual.

The audible click of the door was quiet, but for some reason it projected so loudly to Itachi's ears.

"Why don't you enlighten me," Orochimaru began smoothly as leaned back against the door, effectively barring it with his body, "as to why your hand was in the cookie jar to begin with?"

The analogy was insulting, inferring that Itachi was no better than a naughty child. "Do not put yourself on a higher pedestal than me," Itachi said quietly, his naturally deep voice lower than it had ever been. "You were spying on me last night."

"Oh, dear me." There was a wholly dramatic gasp. "It looks like the cat is out of the bag!"

Itachi watched with cold, dispassionate eyes as Orochimaru feigned despair, reaching up with trembling fingers to wipe the nonexistent tears streaking his face. He followed the exaggeratedly shaky movements with a stony expression, disbelieving that Orochimaru was capable of crying – much less willing to show such weakness if he were, arrogant as he was.

The wicked grin he spotted underneath the drape of the other man's sleeves said it all.

Orochimaru was still grinning when he lowered his hand. "What you essentially just did was condone your actions with the phrase... ah, how does the saying go? A tit for a tat." Amber eyes shifted to the ceiling seemingly in thought before locking onto Itachi's with sudden intensity, making it blatantly clear he knew exactly what he was saying. "An eye for an eye."

Itachi's response was to activate his Sharingan, rising up to the challenge in those words. Similar to last night, Orochimaru was sniping at the Uchiha Clan's power – only this time the glass of amicable chatter was already lying in shattered pieces between them. That same power blazed with inner fire as Itachi pinned the Sannin with a hard, penetrating stare, speaking eloquently with his eyes without ever uttering a word.

"I never took you for a petty person, Itachi-kun," Orochimaru mused with a hand gesture, as though he was referring to research notes on Itachi's profile. "You don't strike me as the type. So," he regarded Itachi intently, "why were you weaseling your way around places you shouldn't be?"

Although the question was sarcastic, making a mockery of the meaning of Itachi's name, it was to the point.

Why indeed?

From how he had hesitated prior to this moment, Itachi had known it was dangerous to encroach Orochimaru's personal space. While the Sannin seemed to have an unhealthy habit of doing so to others – in particular, him – the game had always preemptively set. It was always Orochimaru toying with him, pushing his buttons, testing just how far he would go and how much he would listen by speaking in riddles – simply because he asked questions.

Curiosity.

Itachi was not an overly curious man by nature but it walked alongside his duty as a spy. He was expected to be drawn to secrets, to walk the fine, dangerous lines which all happened to be connected to Orochimaru who seemed to be relevant in everything. Investigating Orochimaru's room was one of those leads, only he had discovered something unexpected.

In the end, Itachi settled for turning the tables. "I was looking for you," he answered plainly, allowing himself to be somewhat honest – if only to appease the appetite of the snake. "Where were you?"

Oh, now this was rich, Orochimaru thought, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes. What he actually said was, "Oh, so _now_ you want to talk?" He left the drawl hanging between them as he swiftly pivoted on his heel, moving to open the door. "I don't think so."

No one played him for a fool – least of all, Itachi, a young man decades his junior. While he wanted Itachi's body as his first vessel, and rather liked the man's refreshing coldness he longed to melt, he was not about to reveal where he had been last night. The secrets he kept, the place he had gone to, the true extent of his world of knowledge – they were for him and him alone. He was willing to indulge Itachi in a great deal of things for his own amusement but not this.

Everyone had lines drawn as boundaries, warning others. This just happened to be where he drew his line.

Orochimaru twisted the doorknob, thinking of how easily he could in fact slice the door itself apart when, all of a sudden, the matter was forcibly taken out of his hands. An arm extended over his shoulder spilling dark material over his robe, a hand shooting out to become splayed against the door, flattening it shut with an audible click. The lock engaging sounded abnormally louder than it should have.

Peculiar as it was, he wasn't given time to fully dwell on it as something else stole his attention – rather rivetingly, at that. A kunai was drawn, the incredibly sharp tip poking his back, threatening him in a blithely insinuating way. The weapon was nothing compared to his Kusanagi, but in Itachi's deft hands, coupled with the legendary Sharingan, the kunai was deadly.

"Where were you?" Itachi repeated very carefully as he clenched his hand around his kunai in readiness.

"I was out doing some late night shopping. I do enjoy bargain sales. That's how I came to find this rather fabulous robe that was on sale–"

Itachi cut through the sarcastic pandering with a vocal slash of his kunai. "Stop playing games with me."

"And what would you have me say?" Orochimaru's voice was suddenly flat, the mockery gone, even as he continued to face the door. "What exactly do you want to hear?"

A great deal of things, Itachi said silently, wishing Orochimaru would willingly share everything he knew. He partially said so when he simply demanded, in an equally flat tone, "The truth."

"Ah, but as I said yesterday, the truth is ugly. You might not like what I tell you." Orochimaru was sorely tempted to reveal all, just to gauge the other man's expression since Itachi never ceased to amaze him with his coldness. Briefly, he imagined those lovely black eyes – even lovelier with the Sharingan – wide with shock, the coldness melted away by the heat of emotions, and smiled. Still... "For that matter, why should I tell you anything?"

"You are my partner," Itachi responded promptly, for it was the truth. Spy or not, Orochimaru was his business, as he was still relatively new to Akatsuki's shady ways of conduct. "I need to know where you are at all times."

"Do you?"

From the rise of incredulity in Orochimaru's voice alone, it was clear he thought otherwise. If that wasn't indicative enough, Orochimaru went a step further by twisting fluidly on the spot, coming dangerously close to Itachi. He spun around so swiftly that Itachi didn't have time to react, still holding his kunai in the same position such that it was now pointed at Orochimaru's stomach.

"Careful now, Itachi-kun," came the low, sultry purr as pale fingertips danced over Itachi's hand, teasing at first before melding with creamy skin. "Anymore of this possessive behaviour and I might start to think that you _like_ me – that you _want_ me all to yourself."

Itachi could only stare at Orochimaru as another hand came to rest on his own. There were so many peculiar things happening all at once, from how the other man had suddenly taken on a suggestive cast, flaunting his androgynous quality, to the soft fingertips that were caressing his clenched fist around his kunai. Strongest of all in allure, however, was the come-hither smile that was both taunting with amusement and promising in dark things.

Things that shone wickedly in serpentine eyes.

Not once did Orochimaru stop rubbing slow, sensual circles over the hard ridges of Itachi's knuckles as he began to speak – to caress in more ways than one with a soft voice.

"Very well. Because you asked me _so_ nicely, let me tell you a cute little story. I went out last night for an evening stroll and murdered an old woman with my bare hands. She put up a good fight, I'll admit, for a walking sack of bones but I got her good in the end. Poor thing was dead before she even hit the floor. And do you know what?"

Itachi, who was already on the edge from the moment Orochimaru caught him in his room, even more-so from the man's surprisingly warm touch, tensed rigidly at the drawling question. He knew what was coming even before the words were spoken.

"You're next if you don't lower your hand."

In the blink of an eye, Orochimaru made his move, striking with the swiftness of a coiled snake. As fast as he was, he was no match for Itachi who anticipated him moving. Sharp, dark-painted nails attempted to dig into creamy flesh, only to meet air as Itachi shoved him against the door. Utterly ruthless, Itachi rushed forward, bringing his other hand that had been splayed against the door to enclose around Orochimaru's slender neck.

For a moment, with his hand around Orochimaru's neck, having conformed him against the door, it appeared as though Itachi had won. Much like last night, however, the Sannin was full of surprises, evident when hissing snakes shot from the drapes of his sleeves. One of the emerald snakes came alarmingly close to his body. If not for his exceptional reflexes, executing a swift slash at its head, it would have bit his neck.

The snake's head hit the floor in a bloody spray.

Instinctively, Itachi leapt backwards, automatically shielding his face with his cloak as he set distance between him and the spitting snakes. The biggest snake out of them all had never appeared more dangerous than he did then, still leaning against the door. The simple robe did little to hide his natural aura of power, one that was quiet with authority, and utterly seductive with darkness.

In spite of what had just transpired, the battle for dominance that reached an all new violent level, Orochimaru was _still_ smiling, suggesting he knew something deliciously juicy that Itachi did not.

It turned out he did.

"Akatsuki works best in carefully selected pairs," Orochimaru explained as he widened his smile, surprising himself by how much he adored seeing the curiosity in Itachi's lovely eyes. It caused his breath to hitch, to rise sharply in his chest with a rush of excitement even as he continued speaking. "There was a reason I was partnered with Sasori before I met you. It wasn't just about mutually wanting to live forever. Do you know what our special of the day was?"

Disturbed by the analogy to food, Itachi could only remain silent, appearing as a cold slab of stone as he stood near the window.

"_Poison_."

The poison in question was spat in the air as the snakes from Orochimaru's sleeves made their presence clearly and dangerously known. Itachi's gaze sharpened on them, observing their scaly forms closely. His Sharingan could read chakra elements but this – what he saw – was completely different. They appeared to not be summons, rather extensions of Orochimaru's body, as frightening as it was.

"Shall I serve you a plate?" Orochimaru offered smoothly, holding out the same tempting fruit he had given to the boy he had fixed. The ripe apple dangled from his hand, from every word he drawled to sound enticing, as he gazed at Itachi intently. "I would very much like to hear your critique of my dish for there is a potent venom as the main ingredient. It's so potent that one just puncture to your skin will have you on the floor. Why, it's so delicious it's simply to _die_ for."

Itachi was sure it was. In spite of all of his preternatural abilities, and the accomplishment of being the youngest ANBU Captain ever in Konoha's history – even massacring the Uchiha Clan – he was certain he would die to the lethality of poison. The workings of poison were so intricate it went beyond conventional ninjutsu such that it was associated with the force of nature. Nature itself was used to create it, commonly derived from plants.

For poison to go beyond that, coming from a snake...

This was becoming far too dangerous. The nature of their games were inherently wrought with danger, pushing for dominance, but this level was beyond what he was comfortable with. It was poisonous. Itachi summed it up when he flatly stated, "This is pointless."

"Business as usual, I see," Orochimaru commented with a laugh, looking mildly disappointed as he commanded the snakes to retract into his sleeves. Still, he wasn't about to relent, thoroughly enjoying pushing Itachi's buttons. "Are you sure you don't want a taste?"

Itachi's silence said it all. He didn't say anything, merely strode to the dresser, picked up the cloak that had instigated the game, and held it out to Orochimaru. Not by any means was it a truce or sure sign of submission, signalling he had caved in, for it was clear the game was far from over. The game they both played was unending, adding light to their dark days in Akatsuki. It wasn't a bright light, not one born of happiness and nice things, but it was still a light – even if it drew them both like moths to a flickering flame.

Eventually, one of them would perish. It was just a matter of waiting until one of them flew to close.

In that sense, the understanding was mutual. Hands were grasped in agreement when Orochimaru accepted the offered cloak, going so far as to brush Itachi's fingers as he grasped the dark material in a lingering, deliberate caress.

Itachi ignored the feeling of the other man's touch as he produced the object that he longed to keep. "Your forehead protector."

"Thank you, Itachi-kun."

Polite as ever, Itachi was momentarily struck by how Orochimaru acted as if nothing had happened, reverting to his usual self. He watched, careful to keep wistfulness out of his expression, as pale fingers scooped up the memento singing of home. The metal surface was smooth, unmarred. There was no scar. Something inside him reached out for it, the very same feeling that had nagged him before, escaping him as a question. "Why haven't you slashed it?"

"I see no reason to," Orochimaru replied with an offhanded wave of his hand. "Many of the other Akatsuki members have done so to theirs but I fail to see the point."

Itachi pointed out, "It symbolises broken ties to one's village," as neutrally as he could, infinitely curious to hear Orochimaru's reasoning.

"Mmm." Orochimaru looked thoughtful, gazing at his forehead protector meaningfully. "Ah, but the thing is that my ties to Konoha aren't yet broken."

The revelation was shocking, resonating within Itachi who had never been more taken aback at what Orochimaru had ever said. Up until now, the cryptic answers he had heard were just that – strangely spoken words alluding to a greater truth. But this... It _was_ the truth. Plain and simple, free from the tainting darkness of sarcasm and lies, it was the truth as to why the forehead protector was unmarked.

"Not even Akatsuki can force my hand," Orochimaru continued in a supremely unaffected fashion, conveniently missing the searching look Itachi was giving him as he stared down at the memento of home they both secretly clung to. "I'm no fool. I've lived longer in Konoha than you, Itachi-kun. It will always carry some sentimental value no matter what happens in the future."

There was a dark edge of promise with the last thing he said. Only a fool would have mistaken it to be friendly.

"Slashing it would be a lie and," a smile curled Orochimaru's lips as he turned to open the door, "unlike _some_, I have nothing to prove."

Itachi was left standing alone in the room clutching his bloodied kunai. Although the snakes had never bit him, poisoning him, he felt sick with the knowledge that Orochimaru would one day attempt to destroy everything he held dearly. What was truly nauseating, however, seeping in past the cracks of his facade as poison, was how Orochimaru seemed to have pieced the fragments of his fallible mask together, seeing it, and him, for what they truly were – that he _knew_.

* * *

**A/N:** Orochimaru is wearing the outfit he wore when he met Kimimaro. What a fashionista. So fab.

With regards to the forehead protector, manga chapter 618 says it all. Konoha will always have a place in his heart, shrivelled as it is. Orochimaru might be proficient in manipulation but he's not about to lie to himself (Kabuto, I'm looking at you...kidding ily). Furthermore, he's never worn any other forehead protector unless in disguise in the case of infiltrating Kumogakure and Konoha (as an Otogakure shinobi). Flashbacks, for example when he tried to steal Itachi's body, didn't depict him wearing his Konoha forehead protector slashed, either. Of course, that's not to say he isn't above attempting to destroy Konoha but there you go.


	10. Blind

**A/N:** For reference, manga chapter 372: The Weeping Country and Shippuden episode 128. Highly recommend that you read/watch them. It's actually quite sad, hence the soundtrack.

Soundtrack: Shippuden OST 'Saika'

* * *

Chapter Nine – Blind

* * *

"Itachi."

The Uchiha in question ascended the short flight of stone stairs silently, closing the gap between Pain and him with a certain swiftness that spoke volumes of his efficiency. Every move made his Akatsuki cloak bristle, creasing slightly against his lean, deceptively slender body. He didn't have to make a pointed display of his presence for he naturally exuded it – quiet authority and hidden power.

If anything, the danger he posed with his handsome visage was deadlier than most. Even the way he spoke was reserved, yet somehow it projected loudly and powerfully.

"You wanted to speak with me."

The addressing words were said as not a question but a statement. Pain nodded, breaking away from his throne-like seat to face the other man fully. "Yes, there is something I would like to discuss with you. It's about Orochimaru."

Itachi found himself tensing without fully understanding why. "What about him?" he ventured a bit more sharply than he intended.

"Kakuzu, one of our members and acting banker, has seen it fit to kill his partner." Pain's solemn face seemingly carved out of stone matched the seriousness of his words. "This might come to a surprise but it's not daily that S-rank shinobi defect from their villages. You're not expendable, Itachi, and neither is Orochimaru. He's one of our more...senior members, if I may."

The revelation piqued Itachi's curiosity regarding his partner. Just how old was Orochimaru?

Nonetheless, as dry as the thought was, Itachi gave no indication he particularly cared, instead flatly querying, "Is this an attempt to dissuade me from killing him, provided I could?"

"I am a god but even I cannot control your actions." Pain raised his hands in the air, the gesture unmistakeable, adding to his enmity of being a god. "What I'm saying is that it would be unfortunate should the two of you fight – although I couldn't imagine why. Orochimaru is quite friendly."

If only Pain knew just how _friendly_ Orochimaru was when he wanted to be. Over the past few days, ever since their little violent game, Orochimaru had taken to flaunting his androgynous appearance to the point of insufferable arrogance. Whenever they crossed paths – which were inevitable, given their partnership – Orochimaru would curl his lips into _that_ come-hither smile, sometimes going so far as to suggestively trail his fingers down Itachi's arm.

Itachi always followed protocol, donning his Akatsuki cloak, but even then the material proved inadequate. Orochimaru's dancing fingertips would leave a trail of intense heat like tongues of licking fire, permeating through the thick, draping sleeves such that they probably might as well have touched – skin against skin; milk against cream, so similar with lightness yet different in texture.

But sometimes it came to the point where Orochimaru stopped playing games. He would enter the same room, not even bothering to make up an excuse, stand as though he was the embodiment of feminine and masculine perfection with one hand on his wide hip, cloak unbuttoned and all, and then run a deft hand through his hair. The cascading length of his hair wasn't so much as riveting as the _way_ he slid his fingers through it.

The abnormally long tongue flicking out never ceased to disturb Itachi, forcing him to look away as his insides squirmed in discomfort. Still, much like Kusanagi stowed _inside_ Orochimaru, it was morbidly fascinating. It was as if everything that was so wrong and strange in reality took human form as Orochimaru, not just the world of knowledge but the sinful darkness – the haunting creepiness that beckoned with one white finger.

Then, there was the temptation of the apple offered by the snake...

"While I have you now, here's your next mission."

Itachi wordlessly accepted the offered scroll, immediately unbuttoning his cloak to stow it in the inner pocket.

"You and Orochimaru are tasked with the theft of a high-priority scroll. We've had some problems with the client so be on your guard. Contact Zetsu as per usual afterward."

It went without saying that they were to handle whatever potential problem arose as they saw fit. Akatsuki was just that type of criminal organisation. There was no room for drama and theatrics. Business was conducted efficiently. As the 'leader' of their team – although that didn't stop Orochimaru from doing what he pleased, which always entailed tempting him with the apple – Itachi handled their business professionally.

They were quite the pair – much more than he liked to admit.

"Dismissed."

* * *

Orochimaru examined his long nails idly as he leaned back against the metal railing of one of Amegakure's tall buildings. The building was dilapidated, retaining vestiges of the Second Shinobi World War that were unable to be hidden, shown clearly from even afar. Scars resembling metal tears marred its rusted surface such that the wounds appeared worse, seemingly unable to be healed with time.

Apparently time healed all wounds. Such a thing had never been farther from the truth.

Although the blood had all but washed away with the rain, the sky still cried. It continued to weep, persisting through the afternoon, several days later from when the boy had killed Kohaku. Orochimaru watched as a raindrop descended from the heavens, splattering against his finger. The water hit the nail of his ring finger, highlighting the dark hue that matched his malevolence.

The watery effect was not bright, simply translucent – clear with clarity yet unable to wash away the darkness within.

Smirking faintly at the thought, Orochimaru raised his head, registering the soft patters of two sets of footsteps in opposite directions. One belonged to Itachi who tended to walk quietly, striding more than walking if anything, while the other set of footsteps was slower and lighter – though only in sound. The heaviness burdening each step was a different story, carrying the weight of the world.

Konan.

Slitted gold eyes met orange in a significant yet fleeting moment. A memory bound them together, one that reflected the weight hampering Konan's shoulders that had nothing to do with the cumbersomeness of her Akatsuki cloak.

_"Shall I kill these children?"_

Judging by how Konan quickly averted her gaze, passing him by without sparing another glance, Orochimaru knew she had been thinking about the same thing. In turn, he did the same, shifting his eyes to the wet floor as tears rained down from the heavens. Usually, he didn't crack under pressure and melt by tension but this was different. It was not a game but a haunting reality of how things would have unfolded had he carried out his offer of mercy killing.

"What was that about?"

The question was unexpected, snatching his attention just like the orphans had stolen their food all those years ago. Orochimaru turned to regard Itachi who was standing nearby as a tall cold slab of stone, tilting his head to the side pensively as he considered the question. Once again, the curiosity he saw in Itachi's black eyes resonated within, causing his fingers to flex against his cloak.

It nagged him, compelling him to speak, to share his secrets even as the colourless void of black remained unblinkingly hard as they always did. There was something about Itachi that irked him, making him want to reveal all – just to see some emotion. What he truly wanted to understand was the complex workings of the other man's guarded mind, comprehending why someone who had it all slaughtered his clan, signing it all away in bloody ink.

Orochimaru wanted to know why demons visited him every night – why Itachi had nightmares. Perhaps, if he indulged the other man, he would soon find out.

"Nothing, really," Orochimaru replied coolly with a smirk as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Just testing to see if Konan remembers me."

Itachi processed the information quickly, drawing conclusions with his agile mind. It stood to reason that Orochimaru had acquainted with Konan prior to Akatsuki, strange as it was since it opened several doors of possibilities, escaping him as another careful question. "Have you fought her?"

"It's quite a funny little story, actually." Orochimaru cast a meaningful glance from where Itachi had just exited, alluding to Pain and Konan several stories above. "You see, I distinctly once offered to kill her along with her two friends when they were young – one otherwise known as Pain."

There was nothing remotely funny about what Orochimaru had just revealed. The promising death of his words pushed him further into the darkness, malice swathing around him like a cloak that he not only seemed to be aware of but also wear proudly. To take a life was a difficult, life-changing thing to do for every shinobi, leaving a stain on the soul and hands dirtied, but to murder children?

Itachi summed it up adequately when he remarked, effectively masking his unease using his usual idle tone, "You live up to your cruel reputation."

"Do I?" Orochimaru's laughter matched the rise to his voice, ringing eerily. "Or perhaps it was crueler to let Konan and her friends simply live. Look at where they ended up – as leaders of an S-rank criminal organisation. Jiraiya thought they had died and perhaps, in a sense, they did. There was a third child. It's hard to forget such red hair – a trait of the Uzumaki Clan, I'm sure."

Crimson flashed before his very eyes, conjuring images of the boy in question. Orochimaru pondered if the child had spilled the essence of life that matched his red hair.

"I'm uncertain as to whether or not he lived or perished but it matters not – he's probably better off dead, anyway. One could hardly call this," he turned around to face the railing and made a grand, sweeping gesture encompassing the war-torn state of Amegakure, "living."

Itachi placed his hands behind his back as he, too, turned, mimicking Orochimaru's movements. He came to face the broken entirety of Amegakure, wondering if they were truly seeing the same thing. What they were gazing at was a village so unlike Konoha, rather resembling Kusagakure. There was no bursting sunshine, not with the perpetual rain, nor did villagers fill the streets as they bustled about in business.

He was about to say something before he hesitated, thinking of the broken boy who Orochimaru had saved. There was without a doubt he had given the boy something, even if the reasons were instigated by greed for power. That boy would probably grow up to be a formidable shinobi, not only given kindness but a taste of power – a reason to live, to achieve that ability so that he could be better and protect his precious friends.

Orochimaru would have gotten what he wanted in that sense. The boy would never forget him, looking up to him like some sort of father figure – or really, whatever he needed Orochimaru to be in his mind whenever the world seemed bleak, either as a parent or friend. There would always be that long-haired man somewhere in his mind, one that wore a smile even if one day he discovered the identity of the monster beneath the charming surface.

But was it really mindless greed from a monster?

Manipulation was attributed to a higher level of intelligence, just as Orochimaru had iterated that night, requiring insight, charisma and perhaps a degree of understanding. It took one of the same to see another broken soul, looking beyond what everyone else dismissed or otherwise failed to notice as they were preoccupied with their own troubles. Orochimaru said people wore masks to hide the ugliness underneath.

It was incontrovertibly true, if Itachi's duty was any indication, covering his scars from war.

Did Orochimaru wear a mask?

Suddenly, Itachi became acutely aware of the other man standing next to him, hovering so close that he could touch him. Touching Orochimaru would be a physical thing, exploring the smooth white skin he had felt only in passing, and that bothered him. It would not be enough. He found himself wanting more than that, delving into Orochimaru's mind, not only for his secrets but to strip away the dark cloak and make him bare, seeing the true face of the monster within.

Itachi was embarrassed by intensity of his thoughts but it simply couldn't be helped. Orochimaru was his partner, the goldmine of knowledge he wanted to glean to protect Konoha – especially with his gold eyes – so it was just a matter of finding a way. He didn't possess the eloquence nor charismatic charm like Orochimaru but perhaps he didn't need them. Whenever he asked questions, Orochimaru would always humour him, indulging him.

Maybe he could use that to his advantage. A shinobi exploited disadvantages to their own end; perhaps this was Orochimaru's weakness.

With sudden purpose, Itachi moved closer to Orochimaru, reaching out to grasp the metal railing. It was wet and cold – precisely what he needed, its harshness anchoring him to reality in preparation for the answers, depending on the nature of them, he would get. He was nothing if not ruthlessly devoted, shouldering duty and vilification in place of honour and love.

Itachi took a few seconds to centre his thoughts before approaching the predatory snake, very carefully asking, "How were they different from the boy?"

"They weren't," was Orochimaru's curt reply.

"So, why didn't you kill him?"

Orochimaru felt the first inklings of annoyance firing in his veins. "As I said at the time," he began in a voice that suggested Itachi was of the lowest inhuman species blighting earth, "he was our lead on Kohaku."

"We would have found Kohaku sooner or later," Itachi pointed out as the truth, which it undeniably was, regardless of the way Orochimaru was glaring at him now. "Kusagakure isn't part of the Five Great Shinobi Countries so it would have been easily conquered."

"What is this really about, Itachi-kun?" Orochimaru rounded on Itachi, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. Suspicion overtook his features, darkening his otherwise pale face. "Why are you so tenacious?"

"Why are you so defensive?"

"I'm not being defensive," Orochimaru said to other man – to himself, masking all using biting sarcasm with a drawl. "Besides, I have nothing to prove – least of all to _you_."

Unspoken was Itachi's nightmare and how Orochimaru had witnessed it, spying on him. Itachi ignored the dangling apple, seeing through the attempt to veer him off course, intended to provoke his temper. Orochimaru was good but not _that_ good.

"Then, tell me the truth," Itachi countered tonelessly, gripping the metal railing in readiness for what he was going to say as he swiftly cornered the snake. "Ugly or not, it can set us free."

Orochimaru sneered at that. "While that's a very lovely memory you have, I'm afraid it's irrelevant," he stated dismissively, breaking away from the edge of the building. He made an imperious gesture that made a mockery of Itachi as a whole while heightening his air of arrogance. "I don't need to be 'set free' as you so eloquently put it," adding with a pointed look over his shoulder, "flattering though it is for you to quote me."

"Apparently you do."

The words, spoken so quietly it was barely audible, struck Orochimaru like a physical blow. Nothing would have swamped him in surprise more then and there even if Itachi actually marched right up to him, drew his hand back and backhanded him into the void his ring represented. Said ring glowed faintly with a stormy blue light, coming to life as its owner seethed, quaking with repressed anger.

Orochimaru refused to be played for a fool. If the other man wanted to play like this, then fine – he would _play_. He would do that and much more, cracking away the ice surrounding Itachi. As always, it was a dangerous game but as he whipped around, sending his hair flying, he was immediately drawn to black eyes of the void, of the darkness he longed to make his own.

"Oh, very well," Orochimaru conceded snappishly, eating the distance between them. Only when he reached Itachi did he stop, standing in front so uncomfortably close it was blithely clear he was taunting, even if his body halted. "If it will put an end to this foolish interrogation, then I'll tell you." He was silent for a moment as he prepared his devastating card – only this time, it was placed facing up. "I saw something in the boy."

"What did you see?"

Orochimaru reached out to void. "Myself."

"Yourself," Itachi said disbelievingly, showing a glimmer of emotion behind his mask. The implications of that simple word was heavy, burdening his already tense shoulders. The weight overwhelmed him with what Orochimaru said next.

"Don't give me that, Itachi-kun." Orochimaru leaned forward intently, pushing from the corner he had been backed into. "We all enter the world as innocent children only for some to leave differently than others." He thought of Nawaki, Dan and his parents, and smiled darkly. "What you don't understand when you're little is that innocence is not so much purity but blindness."

Orochimaru found his fingers moving on their own accord, coming to touch the sensitive skin around Itachi's lovely eyes. Nothing stopped him, nothing at all, taking his breath away as his fingertips brushed silky eyelashes. So long, he thought with wonder, mesmerised by the delicate porcelain of Itachi's mask, finding the heir to the Uchiha Clan more breathtakingly beautiful up close. His tendency for malice was absent for his fingertips were gentle and with good reason.

There was no way he would harm what he wanted.

"Just how much can your Sharingan see?" Orochimaru whispered, caressing Itachi in more ways than one. Their spar in the forest danced across his glazed eyes. "You are able to see through my moves clearly, but what about _me_? Tell me, are you blind, Itachi-kun?"

The moment came to an end when Itachi failed to answer, compelling Orochimaru to draw back. He moved backwards without a trace of embarrassment, appearing as coolly mocking as ever, however inside him was a maelstrom. His heart that others denied he had was racing with so many feelings – some dark with licentiousness and others light with purity. What they all seemed to stem from was the void – the man who inspired such emotions.

Orochimaru smiled. For once, the smile reached his serpentine eyes. He might as well have been laughing. "If I could go back in time to kill Konan and her friends against Jiraiya's wishes, I would," he stated as if was the simplest thing which, to them both – although unknowingly – it was. "I would do it one thousand times over. I would mutilate their bodies and then lick my dirty fingers – blood and all. And do you know why?"

Of course Itachi didn't know, Orochimaru thought with a shake of his head, sending dark tresses swaying in denial.

"It's because it would have been the right thing to do, no matter how much it would vilify me, and I could care less about what others would think. They are blinded by what they cannot see."

In the end, Orochimaru did end up laughing, the rich music of his voice hanging between them as well as something else. "Then again, I suppose telling this to you is pointless." Black hair swayed as the wind carried it and him away, disappearing down into the void that was Amegakure. "A man who kills his entire clan on a whim couldn't possibly understand what it means to make inconceivable choices."


End file.
